


Drafted

by englishmajor226



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Logan (2017), Logan Needs A Hug, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2020-10-07 22:04:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 72,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20470589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishmajor226/pseuds/englishmajor226
Summary: After the events of Rogue’s death, Logan is lost. This four chapter event depicts how Logan deals with the pain of a post-apocalyptic world, up until the events of Days of Future Past. Flashbacks of the original timeline with Logan and Rogue in part 1 of the story Fray are frequent. Spoilers only for part 1 of "Fray," unless otherwise specified.





	1. Prologue

**Drafted**

** _Prologue_ **

** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, October 2015_ **

** _Two Rivers Research Facility, Alberta, Canada_ **

His organs were still struggling to become whole again as he snarled, shoving dozens of men off him, roaring as he plunged his claws into anything with a fucking heartbeat. Anything that _ breathed, _ anything that _ moved. _ Around him, bullets pebbled his skin, sirens sang overhead, and his breath was only a shudder, because he knew. He knew deep down in everything he was. _ Poisoned. _

“Med Bay A, now!” Rogue shouted, and something in him registered her words, even as the knowledge pulsed deep and wild. _ Poisoned. Sick. Dying. _The roar of a jet. Charles’ voice in their minds. A turned corner, and then a fresh swell of guards. He only threw her a wild, savage look, and she nodded quickly as she began to work on the code for the Medbay door and he pivoted to slice jugulars and disembowel intestines and end life after life. He was barely holding on. Blood everywhere. The walls, his canvas. Grief, his muse. 

_ These fuckers can inject you with a poison that will leave you dead in five minutes. _

_ She was dying. _

And then the sound of his name on the air as she called to him just as he finished off the last guard in the latest swell, and he staggered forward once more, retracting his claws and wiping the blood out of his eyes with one shredded hand quickly knitting his own skin back up where the claws had done their damage for the billionth time over. He growled, bared his teeth, as he realized at once what she needed. A little girl, no older than five, unconscious on a cot. Two boys hovering in a corner. He quickly scooped up the unconscious girl with the vicious “M” scarred on her face, and clutched her to him, holding her head to his chest as Rogue ushered the older two boys forward. Then, it was only running. Desperately closing the space between them and the extraction point at the end of Block A. 

Hearts thumping wildly. The _ thrum _of the Blackbird overhead. Then one of Blink’s portals snapping open, and he was through it, handing the girl off to Storm, ushering the older boys into the jet, and then, he turned.

_ No. _

There she was. Tears streaming down her cheeks, and yet somehow face stern and set. Fate accepted. Something had gone dark around her eyes. She smelled _ sick. _ Toxic. _ Poisoned. _ And worse, she wouldn’t go to him. Wouldn’t dare move.

“_ Come ON!” _he roared. Then, a quiet acceptance in her eyes. A deadening. 

“No,” she said simply, and he was all instinct, pure rage, as he shouted her name again.

“Marie!”

“It’s done, baby,” she murmured her voice struggling, and then something from last night cleared itself in a place in his mind, amidst the fire. 

“You knew…” he finally breathed. “You knew it would come to this. That’s why, last night, you wouldn’t…” he stopped, voice breaking. 

“I love you,” she said, fiercely, just beyond the rift. “You hear me? I love you. Always have.”

“Marie, baby, don’t do this,” Logan begged, but, as he reached for her again, she took a step backward, while also pressing him back through the portal from where he had tried to grasp her hand. He already knew: she was stronger than him. He couldn’t stop her.

“I’ll see you in another life, sugar. A_ better _one,” she stammered. Logan was seething, unable to comprehend. She didn’t understand. She didn’t realize. He had already seen that world. He’d dreamt of a family at peace. He’d seen a cottonwood tree in a front yard, a rope swing, like the one she talked about from her childhood during those late nights in the Canadian bunker. He’d seen a swath of sky full of stars. He’d seen a son they would never have, shafts of light in his dark hair in the late afternoon sun. He’d seen a life immune to pain and tyranny. He’d seen love and compassion and _time spent _making up for all the fucking years he’d been hiding from her. He was going to make it up to her. Goddamnit, this was the part he was gonna _make up to her._

“No. Baby, baby-” he was stammering, about to stumble back through the portal toward her. But there were arms pulling at him, a nod from Rogue to Blink beyond the divide, and, just like that, Rogue, Block A, and the blood pooling at Two Rivers was gone. Just...gone.

He blinked...chest convulsing, the animal in him confused and bewildered as he stared at the steel interior of the jet, body still splattered in the blood of his enemies. Her words reverberated through his head, over and over again, even as he was forced into a seat by Blink and Storm, even as the bombs fell, even as he heard the screams of destruction on the wind. The Blackbird rocketed forward as fast as it ever had before, the children they had brought on board crying silently, and it was as he shut his eyes tightly, he felt it. The same deadening. A black hole. A dead star. Slowly compacting everything in him down into a flat, black sphere. A decaying universe. 

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 1: To Grieve

**Chapter 1: To Grieve**

** _(Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, December 2015)_ **

_ Wolverine! Stand down! This mission is compromised! _ he heard Xavier’s voice in his ear. It might as well have been fucking white noise. He snarled again as he rammed his claws into the head of another man, the pristine eerie white of the hallway now splattered in streaks of red and swarming with more militant combatants. They had been trying to storm the lab where they believed the enemy to be developing technology to detect the mutant gene in non-mutants, but had been compromised early on.  _ Too few of us. Too fucking few of us to do anything. Always, always, too few. _

“Wolverine!” Blink screamed into his comm, conjuring portals this way and that to help them evade the worst of the gunfire. “This is becoming a suicide mission!  _ There are too many of them. _ Sentinels now spotted in the facility!  _ We should retreat _ !  _ Now! _ ”

“I give the  _ FUCKIN’ ORDERS _ , Blink!” Logan roared, but, just as he turned, a laser blast to the chest, the sizzle of boiling temperatures as flames licked his shoulder and head, searing the skin off the left side of his face.  _ What the fuck?!  _ He snarled, as a pair of Sentinels stood between them and the outside entry. Baring his teeth, he charged forward, before the portal changed and Logan wasn’t quick enough to not run through it, before the handful of mutants that had been commissioned to attack the lab were all breathing heavily once more in the underground bunker in northwestern Canada where Blink had quickly transported them to safety. 

“ _ Fuck!!”  _ Logan growled, whipping around this way and that, uniform half corroded and still smoking in places. He could still feel the air on his metal-coated skull for a few fleeting moments, before the skin painfully and stubbornly grew back. Around him, Blink was sporting third degree burns on her forearms, another mutant he’d come to know, Cypher, was on his back, a healer and the mutant medic in the bunker rushing over to him. The rest of his five-man team sporting minor burns and wounds.

Turning around quickly, Charles was there, quietly hovering outside the door as a few mutants rushed past him to help their injured brethren. 

_ I told you to stand down, Wolverine.  _

“We had  _ time,”  _ Logan barely ground out in English, snarling as he still struggled with the animal within to stay something closer to human.

_ No, Wolverine, you did not. And you risked lives because of it. _

“We had  _ fuckin’  _ time, Charles,” Logan barely mumbled again, running his hand through his freshly grown-in hair.

_ You’re off team leadership on reconnaissance, starting now,  _ Charles communicated to him.  _ You’re too volatile.  _

“I could have  _ handled  _ it, _ ”  _ Logan muttered, and their leader quietly and solemnly shook his head. 

“Look around you, Logan,” Charles murmured, finally outrightly speaking. But Logan didn’t need to. He could feel all of their eyes on him, his rage finally subsiding enough to realize it was in that very rage, that blinding white incessant  _ fury _ , he had jeopardized them all. Quickly and quietly the medic and healer worked to revive the mutants Logan had deliberately put in harm’s way to try to complete the mission. 

For a moment, Logan simply seethed, frowning deeply before stalking forward past Xavier rudely. 

“ _ God fucking damn it,”  _ he muttered, pushing past Magneto and Blink and even the quiet, heavy eyes of Storm, intent on his own cinderblock, stalely lit room. Intent on drowning.

\--

_A hot night. The mealy smell of cigarette smoke and vomit and pollution and too much liquor. Her gloved hand was shaking slightly in anger as she offered out the damp hundred dollar bills toward him, and he swallowed hard._

_ “Here,” she said. _

_ “Hmph. Thanks,” he muttered, taking the money and shoving it into a jeans pocket. He couldn’t evade her scowl though. And he’d earned it. After that last fight in the cage, her eyes on him constantly, the animal had been too close to the surface. He’d come out here to expend some energy with a random redhead. She’d almost caught him in the act, his jeans undone and the redhead bent over the side of some pallets. Thank fuck she hadn’t walked in a moment too early. He couldn’t help it though, sometimes around her. He loved the kid. Respected her. Wanted to set her straight, get her out of that funk she’d been in. She’d been sloppy in the danger room. She was twitchy, unsettled. He’d thought a night of whiskey and taking her mind off that damn poisonous skin of hers would help. Now, he was afraid he’d only made it worse.  _

_ “What was this tonight?” she demanded of him, and suddenly his defenses were up. _

_ “What do ya mean?” he said, even as he glanced down past the dumpsters and spare pallets toward the end of the street, where the Harley was parked. He wanted to leave. He wanted out. He closed his eyes impatiently as the last of the effects of the gallon of whiskey he’d probably had tonight wore off.  _

_ “Was tonight about me or about you?” she finally asked, the words hot and warm in the sticky summer air. Goddamn. What a question. And he’d be damned if he knew the answer. It was probably somethin’ in between. Not quite about her shit or his. Just like most things in his fuckin’ life. Not quite stayin’ in Westchester, not quite able to leave. He and Rogue: not quite friends, not quite anything else. _

_ “Look, I’m not sure what you think you....well. It’s gotta be how it is…” he muttered lamely. _

_ “How what is?” she asked, not just yet letting him off the hook. A quick breath out from him, a quick shake of his head, and then a longer sigh. _

_ “Nothing, kid,” he muttered, too tired tonight to explain the fucking things in his body and brain he felt for her. Besides, even if he was able to put it into better words, if there were things he felt that were deeper, there was no way he’d act on ‘em _ .  _ Xavier would have his head.  _

_ “Come on, let’s get you home.” _

_ The girl frowned, but said nothing more as she trailed behind him to the bike. He started to get on, but then he heard her cursing under her breath.  _

_ “Fuck. I forgot my jacket. Must be back in the bar,” she murmured. In an instant ,he was sloughing off his own, his signature dark brown one with the yellow stripes, and offered it to her. _

_ “No problem,” he muttered. She only stared at him for a moment, then down at the jacket, then back to him. _

_ “But what about-” she began. _

_ “If I get thrown from the fucking bike, I’ll survive,” he said, explaining, a little pissed.  _ Just take the goddamn jacket, kid,  _ he thought to himself. _

_ “Put it on, Rogue,” he said seriously, holding her gaze. She sighed a little, and, hesitantly, finally took it from him. Slowly she wrapped herself in it, and all he could fuckin’ think about was how it would smell like her for weeks after. He swallowed, as she straddled the bike, her hands warm through her gloves as she gripped his chest tightly, now far less layers between his body and her hands. A nineteen year old straddled around his bike and waist.  _ Holy fuck, _ this had been a mistake.  _

_ “Get us out of here,” she managed to whisper, and he obeyed. There wasn’t a moment of hesitation as the bike roared to life and peeled out of the parking lot, as the dark night enveloped them. Everything was a blur, his regret and want and confusion churning within him, until a brisk harsh word was hissed into one of his ears.  _

_ “Faster.” _

_ “That right?” the words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. _

_ “I wanna fly,” he heard her whisper, and then he couldn’t help the low growl in his chest as his boot pushed on the throttle and the night was wild and open and- _

And then the dream was morphing, and they were in the underground bunker, a memory not from years but only weeks ago:

_ “You know what I want more than anything right now?” she asked, wrapped up in blankets as she was in the so-called living room of the bunker, just a blank, empty rectangular room with some mattresses, a coffee pot, and a record player. He’d been site-scouting with Storm all day, and had drearily come back to find her listening to some crap music from the shitty collection of records in the bunker. He hadn’t meant to linger that long, but she’d invited him to talk with her. After he’d finally sat next to her, he was aware of how fuckin’ close he was to her for the first time in weeks, since South Africa. After he’d given her his healing, he’d given her space, with as much shit was probably up in her head that had to do with him.  _

_ “What’s that, kid?” he asked, a small smile on his face.  _

_ “A Big Mac,” Rogue said through a sad laugh. “I haven’t had one in…god. Years. A Big Mac and all the McDonalds fries I can eat,” she said, and he chuckled a bit at that. _

_ “Heh. Well definitely better than Spam and canned green beans. Doesn't sound so bad to me, either. Sorry I can’t help ya there, darlin’. I don’t know of the last time they let our kind into a fastfood joint like that in North America,” he muttered through a frown. _

_ “Was it different ...in Japan?” Rogue finally asked, turning to look at him more seriously. _

_ “A bit. Wasn’t as bad. I mean, you probably couldn't get a decent burger over there, but the politics were different. They didn’t have mutant sensors yet. I could walk into any place… undetected. But I shoulda known, things were still brewin’ under the surface. Had I been paying better attention… If I hadn’t...well…” he dropped off, and, noticing she was still shivering, he cleared his throat.  _

_ “Rogue….” Logan muttered, before she looked up to him hesitantly through another shiver.  _

_ “Yer killin’ me, kid. Don’t…make it more than..fuck...just c’mere. Healing factor should be worth  _ something _ ,” he muttered, and reached for her, pulling her close to his body, careful not to come in contact with the bare skin of her neck and face. _

_ “Hell,” she muttered, her back against his chest, leaning into him without thinking about what it meant as her shivering subsided with the rise and fall of his own steady breathing . “You  _ are  _ warm.”  _

_ “I told ya, darlin’,” he finally managed to mutter, trying to not drown in her scent, the sound of her pulse, the sight of her neck exposed and so close to him. He had no fuckin’ clue where to put his hands, but, before he could decide what to do with them, she placed one around shoulder so it wrapped around her frame. He sucked in air as she idly massaged his hand through her gloved fingers, and for a while they simply sat there like that. More moments they couldn’t come back from. Moments like this.  _

_ “I hate this place,” she said quietly after some time. “It’s like, down here, I can’t breathe.” _

_ “It’s the same for me,” he muttered. “Ain’t no scent down here that feels  _ real.  _ All this fuckin’ artificial light.” _

_ “Yeah…” she drifted off, and he could hear her heart settling, and he realized she was exhausted...and sad. He wanted to fucking kiss her. He wanted to bite down on that pulse on her neck. He wanted to protect her, keep her safe, revive that promise he’d stupidly made to her all those years ago. The one he hadn’t been able to keep. _

_ “Listen, kid...this thing between us-” he began again, his voice rough and deep as he struggled to form words she kept idly massaging his hand. _

_ “Shh,” Rogue said, turning to stare up at him. _

_ “Kid-” he began, but she put two gloved fingers to his lips, and he stopped talking.  _

_ “Soon,” she murmured, and he only cocked an eyebrow at her for a moment, a small smile playing on his lips, as she leaned into the planes of his chest once more. _

Logan snarled as he shot up in the cold cot, body practically convulsing, brain hazy through the fog of sleep and booze. He only groaned and breathed for long moments, shutting his eyes tightly. After some time, he growled, swiping for a half-empty container of cheap whiskey on the desk and drinking heavily. If he kept a bottle to his lips all day, he got enough of a mild numbness to maintain the basic semblance of being alive, but that was all. After a few more minutes had passed, he stumbled into the bathroom to piss, and afterward had growled as he looked up at his own reflection. He hadn’t shaved in two months, and he looked like a fucking animal. Dark circles under his eyes. Face carved with the memory of nightmarish sleep. Not that it fucking mattered. They were underground anyway, buried in the snow, the real light snubbed out.

Two days after it had happened, he’d gone back to Two Rivers without permission. He’d found nothing but scorched earth and debris, charred remnants of the sprawling, multi-building facility. They had bombed the shit out of it, but before the bombs fell Logan knew she had only about a minute left to live. She’d known. Known since the moment she pulled the collar off. The toxin pumping through her system. The dead feeling in her eyes. And now, nothing of what he’d witnessed. No body to bury. No scent of her left on the wind. No way to grieve. He’d stared, wild-eyed, out at the Canadian wilderness beyond, and had left Blink then, telling her to go home, and stalked out into a thick swath of pine trees. He walked for what felt like miles, before stopping, swaying on his feet, finally falling to his knees in the deep snow. He’d shut his eyes then, and, with the little strength he had left, buried her in his mind.

No more  _ why.  _ No more  _ what if.  _ No more  _ her.  _ Instead, after that, he’d thrown himself into dangerous mission after dangerous mission. He sliced and tortured and carved his way through half of Canada after Two Rivers, immediately volunteering for using his body in the way it was  _ meant  _ to be used. To slaughter. To maim. Not to fucking  _ love.  _ Despite this fact, most of the missions had failed; there were simply not enough of them to turn the tide, to scramble for any sort of upperhand _ .  _ There were times the others had all barely made it out with their lives. But now, Charles had grounded Logan. And there was nowhere to go, no way to  _ be.  _ Except at the bottom of a bottle. 

Her life:  _ squandered.  _ His:  _ neverending.  _ Why hadn’t he pulled the goddamn collar off his own neck? Would it have even killed him, if he was immune to all the fucking poisons out there anyway? Why had he been the one without a  _ fucking spine? _ He had been dying as it was.  _ Why not then? Why had he let her make the sacrifice? Why her?  _

_ Why? Why, kid? Why’d you do it? _

_ Why you, and not me? _

Somehow, he knew he’d pay for it. Somehow, someday, he’d pay for his hesitation, his awful, unbearable mistake.

** _\--_ **

Two weeks, three weeks, four...life nothing more than waking and dreaming, occasionally showing up listlessly to a debrief when he found the strength to. He hated these moments though. He hated the look of pity on ‘Ro’s face, the way Blink looked at him with disdain at how little he seemed to care, which didn’t fucking make sense to him. He was still decommissioned from recon, anyway, and any missions there had been had died down with the harsh, Canadian winter they were all facing. 

It was a random, bitter January day when he heard Charles’ voice in his head, and it took everything in Logan to get out of bed, pulling on a sweatshirt and stalking forward to the briefing room where he had been summoned. Charles was quietly sitting at the stainless steel table with a laptop in front of him and some paper documents. No one else was present, and Logan quickly realized this was just about him and not about the mundane updates of a winter hiding out in the Canadian rockies.

“Logan. Please come in,” Charles said, nodding to the older mutant who stalked forward, sloppily taking a seat to Charles’ left.

“What do ya need, Chuck?” Logan muttered, itching the scruff of his full beard, and Charles’ eyes narrowed, studying him.

“I want to say right away that I hope you know how deeply, deeply sorry I am for your loss,” he murmured, and Logan realized it was the first time his leader had said anything about Rogue since the short, silent ceremony they had held after returning to the bunker on that fateful day.

“We all lost her, Charles,” he muttered, muscles bristling with tension at the insinuation that she was something more to him. That it was anything other than what it was _ .  _

“We did, my friend. And I must say-”

“-why’d you call me here, Chuck? Get to it,” Logan snarled, interrupting the younger man, who once more fell silent. He sighed, putting his head in his hand once more.

“I wanted to, in part, apologize. It was a mistake, to keep you in charge of reconnaissance, after her death. But...I have realized now it was also a mistake to entirely keep you at a distance from our purpose for being here. For fighting  _ back _ ,” Charles said solemnly, and Logan only growled lowly in response. 

“You don’t needta handle me with kid gloves, Charles. Hate to remind you, but I’ve got well over century on ya,” Logan snorted, and Charles only sadly smiled.

“Nevertheless-“ but then something in Logan was cutting Xavier off again. 

“And I only knew her for a few weeks as it was. I’m  _ fine.” _

“And of course...the years and years before that when you were her mentor,” Charles said softly, blue eyes meeting Logan’s hazel. Logan frowned, but said nothing, as he waited for Charles to continue so he could be over with the whole damn thing.

Charles cleared his throat and got to the point.

“The mutant compound we placed the families we rescued at Two Rivers, North Point, the one Alpha Flight is managing…” Charles began.

“What about it?” Logan growled lowly.

“I would like you to go there. They’ve established a colony, but I have reason to believe they are not thriving. Alpha Flight recently lost over  _ half its team  _ on a mission in Ontario. Alpha Flight needs help with inventorying supplies, rationing commodities,” he finished, but Logan was already leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms tightly against his chest. 

“I ain’t a fucking girlscout selling cookies, Chuck. You want me on a mission, put me on a _ real  _ mission again, where you need firepower and someone who ain’t capable of getting hurt. Why don’t you send one of the others?”

“Because the others, my friend, don’t need this. You  _ do, _ ” Charles said so softly Logan wasn’t sure if he’d put it in Logan’s head or uttered the words out loud.

“What? To go hand out some bread to some mutant kids? I ain’t in need of any  _ fuckin’  _ therapy,” Logan barked back.

“ _ Nevertheless,  _ you knew this winter was going to be a challenge. And may I remind you, my friend, it was  _ your suggestion  _ back in South Africa that we take cover this winter. We are also low on supplies… you’ll take the jet but will reconvene with a ground convoy in three days’ time so that we may stock up before the winter becomes worse, and mobility is no longer an option,” Charles said clearly.

“So I take this means I’m still off of recon?” he growled.

“For the immediate future, yes. But if you want... _ out of the house... _ so to speak, this is your chance,” Charles said through a curt nod. Logan sighed, and finally stood.

“And Logan…” Charles added, and quickly Logan turned back around to look at the other mutant. 

“Yeah?”

“May I suggest shaving before heading out? There are children at the compound, after all. No need to scare them more than necessary,” he said through a sad smile, and Logan scowled through a low growl, but also a brief nod, before showing himself out. 

  
  
  


\---

An hour and a shave later, as the Blackbird lifted off the ground, Logan closed his eyes a little more tightly. Until now, he hadn’t donned the new suits that they had bartered with another mutant rights faction over, and, even though it wasn’t all black fuckin’ leather, it felt tight on his muscles. Constricting in a way he wasn’t used to. He gripped the armrests as Storm navigated the Blackbird into the air. 

The X-Jet never stayed in one place for long. It was too precious, especially since now it housed a portable Cerebro. It was something Rogue had left them with, the knowledge of Hank McCoy’s mind and the ability to construct a portable version on the jet. Often, Erik took it airborne on his quest for more mutants to join the age-old “cause.” Sometimes they used it on missions, sometimes they didn’t. 

Today though, only Logan and Storm sat in the cockpit, and as it rocketed forward, he pushed down his flight-anxiety, throwing Storm a glance, only to realize she was staring at him with concern on her face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he growled, before jerking his head forward, staring at the deep blue of the sky that was almost setting, an elderly nightfall.

“Like what, Logan?” Storm murmured tiredly, before gripping the helm more tightly. For over twenty long minutes, no one said anything, before finally her voice cut through the air.

“I miss her too, you know,” she murmured to him, and he could only growl lowly at this, even as she continued. “She was my  _ student.  _ And later, my friend.”

But Logan was in no mood. He loathed Storm’s pity. He and ‘Ro, always at odds. She was always coming in during the moment he was about to leave, about to do something stupid, to offer the wise advice, usually just to fuckin’ think before he acted. Rogue hadn’t been that way. Too allegiant to him to disagree, too young to see him as a force to be contested with, up until the very last time he’d met her again, that is. ‘Ro though, she never had a problem telling him how she felt, and as the only one outside of the mess that had been Scott and Jean and his jealousy toward them, Storm often had the power of persuasion over Logan. ‘Ro was, at times, his conscience, his good sense, his voice that warned  _ wait a fucking a second and think about what you’re doing- _ and she had saved his ass more than once because usually he was wise enough to listen to her. 

Since Two Rivers though, he had barely muttered a handful of words to her. He wanted no fucking part of it. Good sense be damned.

“Just shut up and fly the damn plane,” he snarled, and he could feel the room choke up with tension, and he realized too late he had gone too far.

“ _ Hey, _ ” she hissed from the pilot’s chair, snapping her head over to him. Nowadays, Storm wore her hair super short, almost a crew cut, and it made her look harsher, perhaps more distant, but all the more fuckin’ formidable.

“Look. I know you’re going through hell, but you don’t get to talk to me like that,” she snapped, and when he threw her a contentious look, something in the sky surrounding the plane grew darker and the jet shuddered. Logan’s grip tightened on the arm rests as she kept talking. “I’m a senior leader on this team, especially since Xavier took you off recon. You’re supposed to report to _me. _But we both know that’s bullshit. And for as long as we survive this, Logan, and I’m not so sure how long that’ll be, we work as_ equals_. So...a little more mutual _respect_, you understand me?” 

“Listen, ‘Ro. You know I respect the hell out of ya-” he muttered, but she cut him off once more. 

“I said..._do you_ _understand_?” she asked, and when he shot a look back over to her, her thin arms still gripping the helm, he realized there were nascent beginnings of tears in her eyes. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” he finally muttered, swallowing his pride, and she nodded quickly. 

“ _ Good, _ ” she breathed. For long moments, no one said anything, until static poured out of the comms. North Point, the name of the mutant colony, checking in. 

“We read you, Blackbird. State your business for being in our airspace,” the scratchy voice came over the comm.

“Permission to land,” Storm said, her voice breaking slightly as she did so. “As arranged by Professor Charles Xavier.”

“Permission granted. Welcome to North Point, X-Men,” the voice said.

  
  


\--

Eyes darted to the ground. People talked in hushed whispers as they passed. In this large, sprawling underground bunker, a tent city had cropped up, the place littered with thermal heaters, fabric dwellings, blankets on the floor for beds. Every here and there there was a “food” vendor, although Logan knew from the brief he’d received on the jet, food, along with any other commodity, was rationed. Not so different than the ghettos these mutant families had come from, the main difference being they weren't being beaten in the streets for the smallest infraction. Here, still, there was the semblance of freedom. Still though, Logan couldn’t shake off the erie feeling that settled in his brain as he witnessed the desperation.

They had been shown to their room where they’d be staying for the next three days, an actual walled-off portion of the underground tunnels with two cots. Logan realized, quickly, they’d been given the most luxurious living quarters. They had dropped their bags, and were now being ushered along the tent city to meet various families, to show a sign of good will, and to begin the process of evaluating how many rations they would need for winter from the soon-approaching ground convoy. 

“ _ Reminder that curfew begins at 8:30 for a headcount and to disperse rations,”  _ a computerized voice said from the digitally-enhanced skies, and Logan growled uncomfortably as Storm walked in front of him.

“Curfews. Rations. They’re barely living half a life down here _ ,”  _ Logan snarled.

“We’re on rations too, Logan. We’re doing no better. And at least, unlike the ghettos, they’re not hanged in the streets if they’re late,” Storm muttered, and he only somenly nodded as they headed deeper into the sprawling caverns. The one in front of them was a mutant by the name of Northstar, the leader of Alpha Flight, although he’d only shaken Logan’s hand and quietly thanked him for his service in saving the mutants that they now housed before pulling them along, further into the city of mutant refugees. 

“We’re doing our best by these families, but there are a lot of mouths to feed,” he murmured.

“Well, there ain't as much food to go around, is there?” Logan muttered. 

“ _ No.  _ No, not for the likes of us, Wolverine. Our supplier of dry goods has been shut down, after word was received they were still selling to mutant families. But we’re still lucky, if only due to the fact that, right now, at least, there is enough to eat and this place has gone undetected this far by the Sentinel horde,” he explained.

Every once in a while, a scarred face. People peering out of tents as they passed, most of the onlookers all with angry red “M’s’ carved into their right eyes, although often that was the least grotesque of the casualties many of them faced. Two Rivers had been known for its medical experinments, and, at times, torture practices, so much so that it was a wonder they’d had anyone  _ left  _ to rescue.

After a long walk down the sprawling underground hallways, Northstar finally stopped near a dilapidated tent near the fringe of the city, and a short, mousy man stopped what he was doing, stewing a can of beans on a hotplate, and Logan realized he was beckoning another inhabitant in the tent forward. As he emerged he now holding the hand of a small child, encouraging her to step forward. As soon as he laid eyes on the girl, something in Logan immediately sank, as he realized who faced them: the girl who’d been in his arms. The girl he’d saved, while the last minutes of Marie’s life ran out.

Storm quickly sensed a change in Logan, even as Northstar turned to the older mutant.

“You speak some French, yes?” he was asking, and Logan only nodded. “They wish to say thank you.”

“ _ Pierre, mes salutations _ ,” North Star addressed the man, who immediately laid eyes on Logan and pushed forward, gripping Logan’s hand now with desperate gratitude.

“_Bien sûr! Oui, l'homme aux griffes. Nous vous devons tout!” _he exclaimed in French, although Logan’s eyes were glued to the brown-haired girl with the curls. She was shy, clutching a dirty, fraying blanket, hiding behind who Logan assumed was her father, and he found himself kneeling in front of her and attempting to speak. 

“ _ Ce...il est moi. Tout est bien _ ,” he said in broken French, only from what he was able to dredge up in his battered, tired brain from where the memories were still making their way back to him. This one...from the second world war. The bloodied beaches of Normandy. A world on fire. Finally... the look of recognition in the little girl’s eyes. 

“ _ Sauveur! _ ” she whispered, and then her timidity was gone as she bounded into his arms. Gently, he embraced her, hands all the while shaking. He could feel Storm’s eyes on him, and something about how thin the girl was, or how awful the tent city smelled, or how there was never any  _ fucking light  _ in these bunkers had him standing immideateily, letting go of the girl.

_ “S'il vous plaît, s'il vous plaît nous devons vous rembourser en quelque sorte,”  _ the man begged in French, and Logan only shook his head a little, shooting a glance over to Storm.  _ Please...please let us make it up to you. _

_ “Je...tu n'est pas besoin. Il est juste que nous faire,”  _ Logan murmured in French, and then he felt Storm’s hand on his own, steadying him.  _ It’s...alright. It’s just what we do.  _

“Logan,” she murmured lowly, but even as he quickly jerked his arm away from her own, they both realized the same thing: If Logan stayed down here any longer, he was gonna fucking lose it. 

“Finish up here Storm, will ya? Need air,” he managed to mumble, and he only nodded to the man in front of him, and then immediately turned on his heel, the panic in him rising. Quickly, once more past the hungry faces. Quickly, ascending the freight elevator into the sharp frostbitten air of northern Canada where the Blackbird sat perched on a snow-covered concrete slab acting as a landing pad. Night had fallen, and visibility was shit, but it didn’t matter. He barely had time to lean on the metal hull before the memories flooded his brain in a swell of anxious panic. Rogue, no older than seventeen, looking up into the sun as he threw back the plastic tarp on his trailer in Alberta. Rogue, staring up at him in fear before he leapt off the balcony, throwing his claws into numerous Stryker guards as they stormed the mansion. Rogue, tears in her eyes, explaining why she needed the cure, why she had to leave, as, in response to her naively claiming he didn’t know what it was like to be afraid of his powers, afraid to get close to anybody, he muttered the words, “ _ Yeah. I do _ .”

_ No time, no time.  _

_ The sand running out. _

_ “Listen, kid...this thing between us-”  _

_ “Shh,” Rogue said. _

_ “Kid-” he began, but she put two gloved fingers to his lips, and he stopped talking.  _

_ “Soon,” she murmured. _

_ A different life sugar. A better one. _

_ “ _ God fucking DAMN IT _ !”  _ he snarled to the air, plunging his claws on his left hand into the hull of the plane, and ripping them out again, shrapnel flying everywhere, hands bloodied.

“Logan!” he heard her shout to him, and he looked up to see Storm quickly stalking back over to him, boots deep in the snow as she trudged toward the jet from the barely-visible hatch they had both emerged from.

“Told you, ‘Ro. Just needed air,” he muttered, and as she stared at the claw marks in the belly of the plane, she frowned. 

“We have to go back down there. We have work to do, and I need your help,” she said exasperatedly, clutching the parka she was wrapped in a little more closely around her thin frame.

“They’re living in squalor, Storm,” he muttered, a look of disgust on his face as he glanced back to the hatch.

“They have  _ nothing else,”  _ she hissed, and then the wind was picking up, the outside of the jet singing as the wind rushed over it. He realized, of course, it was fuckin’ rediculous to be outside right now, but outside wasn’t underground, and that was enough.

“It ain’t anything I wanna see. Or fuckin’ inventory,” he spat back. “Charles is just hopin’ I meet some scarred mutant kid and I get my wits about me again, and it’s bullshit. Jesus, Storm, can you do something about this  _ goddamn wind?”  _ She looked at Logan harshly, before sighing hard, her eyes going white and suddenly the weather was calm, still really fucking cold, but at peace. When her eyes cleared and she looked back to Logan, her brows were furrowed and there was a deep frown on her face.

“Believe or not, Logan. This isn’t  _ all about you.  _ Right now, those people need us. They need us to help them, to guide them. You know...there’s  _ more to  _ saving people than slicing open a few cages open and setting children free. We’re  _ responsible _ for them now,” she said softly, staring at him intently.

“I ain’t responsible for  _ anybody,”  _ he snarled, and Storm’s frown deepened.

_ “Yes. Yes you are,”  _ she hissed. “You might’ve been gone from us for a long time, for  _ the worst of it.  _ But you are one of us now.  _ Again,”  _ she said before finally signing once more. “And I need you to get it together.”

“I’m  _ fine, ‘ _ Ro,” he snarled.

“No, you’re not, you idiot. Listen, I know a panic attack when I see one. And I get it, ok? You think _ I _ like it down there?” she sighed, closing her eyes tightly, before continuing. “Anyway. It’s ok that you’re  _ not ok,  _ for now, but I need to know you’re gonna pull through this...eventually.”

At this...he said nothing, only issued a low growl from his chest, staring at her. 

“She meant a lot to you,” Storm murmured.

“I don’t want to talk about her,” he sneered. 

“ _ Listen.  _ I’m not telling anyone how to grieve. But first you run us on suicide mission after suicide mission-” she began.

“Everyone walked away with their fucking lives,  _ every time- _ ” Logan tried to get a word in edgewise but she cut him off.

“And then you hole up in your room for weeks and weeks, whipping through our rations of booze so fast we can’t keep up replenishing them.”

“Charles grounded me-” Logan began. 

“You grounded _ yourself _ ,” Storm snapped. “And when you do, you have an impact on the people around you.” That finally shut him up. For a moment, neither mutant spoke, before she tried again.

“You damn well know that she’d want you to go down there and help,” Storm whispered vehemently.

“I said, leave her  _ out of this _ ,” Logan snarled out a warning.

“ _ Absolutely _ not. How could you even say that? She sacrificed herself for us  _ all _ , Logan. And I aim, every day, to make it up to her every way I can. If that means I have to smile at mutant children with deformaties from all the torture they’ve endured and not cry, if that means I have to smell shit and rotting food and the stale life down in that bunker, even if I have to hand out fucking rations or scrub toilets all night long, I’m going to do it, because I’m grateful I still have a life left in order to  _ help,”  _ she finished, and something in him fell then. The fight left him, and he stared at her blankly.

“What do you want from me, ‘Ro?” he asked quietly, and she sighed, walking forward to him, and looked him directly in the eye. 

“Grieve, honey. Grieve hard, long, whatever you need. But on the clock, we need you. We need you sharp, focused, alert. We need you  _ back,”  _ she said through a sharp nod of her head, and then the wind was picking up, the clouds once more covering up the starlit sky. 

  
  


\--

In the room they shared, Storm’s cot was on one side of the wall and his on the other, only thin, military grade blankets at their disposal. They’d shared a tin of canned meat and some stale bread that night, and a glass each of some liquor Logan had smuggled in and then had awkwardly said goodnight to each other. Storm had at least drifted off fairly easily, and slept silently but of course Logan had tossed and turned, unable to shut out the sounds and smells of a hundred mutants trying to pretend any of them still had a basic shred of human dignity. They were all hanging on by a thread here, and the war had just begun. 

He’d polished off the rest of the fucking bottle of whiskey in less than an hour, and finally, it was enough to lull him into a dark fitful slumber. Logan wasn’t surprised by what came next. He’d always been plagued by nightmares, it was just that, now, instead of bloodshed and warfare, they were all of her. 

_ “Here,” he muttered, shoving a fresh mug of coffee her way. She didn’t smile at him, however, as she stared down at the coffee blankly. _

_ “Hey,” she murmured. _

_ “Hey yourself,” he repeated back to her, and that got her to grin, at least a little. _

_ “Where are you headed next?” she said, noticing the pack on his shoulder, with so little feeling in her voice Logan almost believed her. _

_ “Got some scores to settle in a place down south,” he muttered, difficult for him to even form the words. _

_ “Oh yeah? Down south?” she asked, a quiet smile on her lips that he didn’t want to admit how much he liked. _

_ “Not  _ that  _ south. But south, yes _ ,”  _ he teased and then it was more sad, the way she looked back at him. _

_ “Look, kid. I’m sorry,” he finally muttered into his coffee, choosing to sit at the table opposite her. _

_ “For...what?” she asked, although he could detect the glint in her eye that suggested she knew far more than what she should. _

_ “For for being a dumbass, ok? We both knew what happened in that alley. And I’m just...sorry you had to see it. Or...almost see it. I...I’m not...well. I am who I am. And if I get too riled up...too...upset-” he started, before she cut him off once more. _

_ “You can't stop yourself,” she muttered, and he winced at her words, although he nodded in silent agreement. _

_ “Tamin’ the animal. It ain’t no easy thing,” he added. _

_ She only responded with, “Don’t I know it.”  _

_ He paused then, unsure if she was talking about herself or some version of him that resided in her head after the torch. Hoping it was the former, he simply smiled a little, nodded his head, and stood once more _

_ “So you’re gonna be alright? Think you can sort yourself out?” he asked, hoping like hell for an answer that let him off the hook. _

_ “I’m not seventeen anymore, Logan. You don’t need to protect me.” _

_ “That’s not what I asked, kid,” Logan mumbled, hand tightening on his bag. _

_ “I know,” she murmured to her coffee she held with gloved hands, before he sighed, squeezing her shoulder briefly before fleeing through those doors, squandering those moments he always took for granted, before she left for good and he left for good, never to return to Xavier’s, swept away in the world’s current. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the gratitude for @bluefrogsbestfrogs and @avarip, especially with the French translations!, and for the beta help. If you haven't checked out @avarip's story "The Return of the She-King," please go and do so now. You're in for a treat. Also...you know what I just re-read recently and had to fan myself? @bluefrogsbestfrogs "Flash Point." Go do that for some sexy fun. <3
> 
> I'm thinking another Between chapter next, maybe an Engines chapter, and then another chapter of this. I know that's insane. But it takes a lot out of me to write all this Logan angst. I'll write until I run out of things to say. I promise you that.


	3. Chapter 2: To Lose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few lines of Logan and Rogue at the bar are taken from a famous comic book panel. Wolverine vol. 3, no. 12, called "Dreams." It's a great comic. You should read it. <3

**Chapter 2: ** ** _To Lose_ **

** _(Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, March 2017)_ **

  
  


Logan knew what it meant to feel a heart stop beating. His own had, more times than he could count. He’d fucking survived without a heart at all, wiped down to just a fucking skeleton, and he had, only hours later, stood up a whole man and walked off without a mark on him. But while he’d felt his own heart shudder and still, that wasn’t the only heart he’d witnessed end. He’d felt many hearts cease, not only hearts he’d intentionally stopped, but others, too. He knew what it meant in that moment when somethin’, call it a soul, call it somethin’ else, left. The body settling. The will of life…just gone. 

He had faint memories, ones that might make themselves more vivid in nightmares, of death being more familiar to other folks, too. Back when it happened more often. Famine, disease. His mind groggily pulled words forward like _ consumption _ and _ scarlet fever. _ You saw death. Children died. Families lessened. You’d wrap a black band on your arm, women would drape themselves in the color. Back then, there was a certain respect, Logan understood, about grief. A knowing. A recognition. A moment people took to pause. 

But then, his memories had revealed the obvious. Vaccinations for Polio. Smallpox. Shit got easier. People lived longer. Children died far less often, to the point where families started having less of them. Death, in a temporary sense, evaded. And it stopped appearing in the streets. It stopped being in the homes. He watched, as folks began seein’ death for what it wasn’t instead of what it was; in one word: _ commonplace. _

What did it mean, anyway, to be alive? Was a sense of self, a consciousness, enough to constitute a life? He’d seen men without souls walk and talk and command the deaths of thousands. He’d killed Nazis, after all. But he’d also seen the last breath leave the lungs of kind and gentle souls to the point where the body wouldn’t quite stop, confused somehow, pining, maybe, for why it had been abandoned. 

_ To die. To sleep. _

He’d read Shakespeare. He’d read everything. It’s what you did, back then. You wanted entertainment outside of a woman’s thighs and the bottom of a booze bottle? You read. And he’d read them all. Faulkner. Joyce. Walker. Hemingway. Woolf. Fitzgerald. Tolstoy. The ancients, too. Aristotle. Plato. Odysseus.

But Shakespeare, that sonofabitch sometimes would stick with him. He’d forgotten it all, after Alkali, but in the months of the waning year of 2015, the year he’d found her and lost her all over again, his memories, along with memories of all the stories he’d read, came back to him. _ To die, to sleep. No more—and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to—‘tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. _

_ To die, to sleep. _

_ Jesus fucking Christ _, how many times had he wished for it.

Death had a way of coming ‘round though. Another year after her death. Then another. In the field he’d witnessed slaughter after slaughter. The jet would take him to places like Mongolia, Russia, Brazil, but everywhere it was the same. Mutants bein’ rounded up. Internment camps more common. Torture. Grief. The face of death, returning. You never stopped the fuckin’ wars for long. Humans were always keen on killin’ one another.

_ To die. To sleep. _

_ Another life, sugar. A better one. _

North Point though, it remained, and the temporary shelter the X-Men had taken up became more permanent. As Logan’s grief steadied, as he shoved down the fucking torment and _ heartache _of it all, he’d been reestablished as lead of half of all team missions, bearing the responsibility evenly with Storm so neither of them became worn too thin, but, more imporantly, Storm and Logan had made it a monthly responisbility to both oversee the rations and wellbeing of North Point. They still did not live among its citizens, choosing to instead reside at the original bunker that served now as X-Men headquarters, but visiting North Point had become woven into the fabric of both Storm’s and Logan’s very identities. It was something, from that fateful windy day he’d escaped from the bowels of the place, he’d relearned.

Sustainability, too, had found its way into the commune. Working sanitation systems. Plastic partitions instead of tents and lean-tos. Furniture in places, a community area to live and work. In the summer, community gardens and a small farm on the edge of the property, shielded by tech that had been put in place. In a sense, a semblance of a life. Storm served on the board of community members dealing with grievances, but Logan, he’d stayed in the shadows, much more apt to stalk about the place, checking in on the people he’d grown fond of, the people that had helped him get through the worst. 

She was one of them. A warm hand on his naked shoulder. He shot upright, after a short, quaking nightmare of his mother with a shotgun pointed at her temple, one of his oldest memories he suspected and feared was real, when he felt her warm naked body move closer even as he reached for his clothes.

“Already?” she asked simply. He jerked his head back to the woman’s face, the bright white of her hair partially covering the angry dark gray lines of scarred skin mimicking the “M” that had been carved along her purple eyes years ago. He gently moved her arm that had been slung around his chest off him. Her skin was a light gray, her ears were elongated and she had claw-like nails, but other than that looked like a woman. But it was still too high of a price to pay. She had been one of the most abused at Two Rivers long before he had met her, beaten and tortured mostly, for having a body so different. A damn shame, because she was so fucking beautiful. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. Been here too long as it is. Didn’t mean to fall asleep after,” he murmured, but upon sensing her grief, he turned to her once more, murmuring an incomprehensible sound, part soothing rumble and part gentle growl, before briefly running a sturdy, heavy hand along her delicate jawline, which she leaned into and closed her eyes in response through her own contented rumble. Still, it was a somewhat false intimacy, they both knew it, but it was the respect they felt they both owed one another after the sex they both so desperately craved, but rarely received, except for in these stolen moments slipped between plastic partitions of the mutant compound in the middle of the night. 

“Ok,” she whispered, pulling her naked form more into itself. “Ida will be up soon anyway,” she said, running a hand through her long thick white hair, throwing her purple irises across the room to another plastic partitioned space, where her daughter, also brutally maimed across her right eye with the same gray skin and white hair and purple eyes slept. She had no powers to speak of yet, but she had been born, also, looking too different. 

“You get the extra provisions I sent you, baby?” He asked, even as he pulled on his military grade cargo pants, and she looked up to him meekly on the mattress on the floor and military grade blankets, offering him a small smile.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “But the Pepsi was too much.” 

Logan only smirked oddly at her and winked.

“Kid’s gotta have some luxuries. I nearly lost my neck on that raid,” he said as he finished pulling on his boots, sitting in the one chair at the card table of the dwelling. 

“She was bouncing off the walls because of the sugar,” she said, rolling her eyes and clutching her blankets tightly. Then, her smile fell as she knowingly looked up to him again.

“How long this time?” she asked through a quiet grimace. Logan immediately frowned, even as he shrugged on his jacket. 

“Months, kid. They’re sending me to Antarctica,” he muttered, walking back to the mattress and the woman on the floor.

“Why there?” she asked hesitantly.

“There’s a mutant compound that’s thrivin’. Chuck’s gonna have us try to form an alliance. If we do, it could mean a lot better life for you all here,” he muttered, kneeling once more on the mattress to lay a hand on her thin shoulder. 

“You, always running off to save the world,” she smiled coyly, but he only snorted in jest. 

“Just tryin’ to survive, baby. You know that,” he responded, now glancing at the other partition where he knew the little girl slept with a soft brown teddy bear Logan had managed to procure for her, who she had deftly named “Porkchop.”

“You and Ida gonna be alright?” he asked carefully, sullen hazel eyes looking to the woman, even if he already knew the answer.

“You know we will,” she murmured knowingly, and then he leaned into kiss her simply, delicately, like the relationship they shared with one another. After that, he stood back up, eyes on the door. But he could still feel her watching him.

“Don’t die,” she said simply.

He turned back to her for the last time, an odd smirk on his face.

“Not possible for either of us, kid. You know that. Take care, alright?” She only nodded, once more accepting his absence and the immense loneliness that would most likely accompany it. And then he was gone, along the winding row of the compound, one hand in a tight fist at his side, his eyes on the exit, on the next thing to keep surviving. 

  
  


—

“And we’re ready to ascend,” Storm said crisply into the comm.

“Copy that, Blackbird. You’re clear for takeoff. And Storm?” The voice in their ears both said.

“Yes, John?” Storm said through a small smile, even as the plane lifted into the sky through the still-frigid air of early spring. 

“North Point’s gonna miss the hell out of you. Be safe. Over and out,” the voice said, before the communication went dead. 

Both Logan and Blink shot Storm a look, and Storm frowned deeply, even as she navigated the plane into the sky.

“Not a _ word,” _Storm chastised, and Logan knew to keep his mouth shut. He knew John was sweet on ‘Ro, and it wasn’t like he could fuckin’ judge. Besides, he was settling in for a very, very long fucking flight, even in the souped-up jet, and he wasn’t about to get on Storm’s bad side. Instead, he crossed his arms and settled more into the co-pilot’s seat, the coordinates for the Antarctica compound already pre-programmed into the jet. Storm would just have to check in once in a whil,e even as a pilot, and he was simply hoping for a fucking nap, and maybe a pint of whiskey.

“And what about _ you _Logan?” Blink was suddenly saying, and he realized he had missed part of the conversation. 

“What about me?” he grumbled, turning back a bit to look at Blink who was smiling knowingly through the blanket of her black and purple hair. 

“The animal woman, with the small child?” Blink asked, and Logan didn’t even try to stifle a snarl.

“She’s got a _ name, _ Blink,” he growled, and that pretty much shut her up, although he noticed Storm throw him a concerned glance, but said nothing. 

“I don’t _ know _her name, Logan,” Blink retorted. “For as much as you never speak of her.”

Logan only grumbled something incomprehensible, and then muttered, “Sable.”

He felt ‘Ro’s eyes on him again, but he didn’t look at her. This was often the way of it, when one of them found someone to share a bed with, to not feel so fucking alone. Anyway, despite this, it should have come as a surprise to no one, really. Sable was the only other feral in the complex. And if you weren’t a feral, you didn’t get it. Ferals craved physical connectedness, whether that be through drainin’ the blood of some sort of prey or fucking someone until dawn. In the end, it wasn’t fair, how extreme a feral’s mutation could be. Typically never the most powerful, but often some of the most different-looking. Most ferals had animalistic features. Fur and claws and sometimes different bone structures usually being the dead give away. Sable looked at least partially like the name of her subspecies implied; Logan, however, was a sort of black sheep of the bunch, his unruly hair and claws the only physical indicators of what kind of mutation he might have. 

He’d met her about a year and a half ago, after she had settled a conflict between he and another mutant who had crossed him as he was going about inventory. He laid eyes on her, knew her for what she was, and he’d barely made it back to her tent before he had brutally taken her to the floor, her own claws gnawing at his skin. He hadn’t bitten her neck, she wasn’t his to claim, but they had nipped and scratched and fucked so hard that Logan’s blood sang out in relief. Because of the absence of Rogue and the relationship they might have had, he hadn’t been with anybody since Mariko, and that had been a long, long time ago. Sable had admitted, after, to losing her long-term partner, another feral male mutant, in the raids of 2014. She’d taken her daughter, only a fragile one-year-old at the time, and had fled, only to be snatched up by Canadian forces about six months later near the border. Logan reminded her of him, she had admitted, during an intimate moment between them, which was fine because Sable didn’t remind him of _ her. _

By this point, the cabin had settled into silence, Blink herself nodding off, and Storm tiredly staring into the overcast sky beyond them. He wasn’t blamin’ either woman. It had been a rough year in the field. Several of their most trusted comrades met their end after a mission had gone bad in January of this year, and the professor, not so surprisingly, had become more despondent. They still met regularly for meetings, the formation and number of the mutants in the original compound Rogue and Logan had found themselves in two years ago growing, but Logan could tell the Xavier’s spirit had diminished. Everyone knew that the primary goal had shifted from the notion of “fighting” to simply “surviving.” It was a hard pill to swallow, but it had been an accurate line of thinking. Despite their differences, Storm and he had a sort of silent communication about it. Nothing like the feral one he sometimes shared with the woman he’d been sleeping with, but a professional one, formed over years of hard work and respect. 

The impending mission was simple: make new ties with the Antarctica group to barter for goods, weapons, and a possible alliance. Xavier was hoping to establish a small base there, especially if the North Point base were to become compromised. Despite how long they would be gone, it was a mission of negotiation, not warfare, and considering the last few close calls he and his team had had, Logan was grateful for the change. Plus, this time, Storm was in charge. 

As the flight droned on, he felt his own body begin to beg for sleep. It was somethin’ he wasn’t quite keen on, often going days at a time without it, but now, outside of a woman’s warm bed and lulled by the hum of the jet, the pull into darkness started. It had been four, five days this time, and now exhaustion was biting at his every nerve. And it would be something that he would regret, because, in the end, sleep really meant one thing.

Sleep meant nightmares. And nightmares meant _ her. _

  
  


\--

“_ So why do you think Xavier wants us doing recon on our own allies?” Rogue asked through a sip of coffee, as they sat at a table in the now-defunct restaurant of the hotel-turned-mutant compound. It was mid-morning, and the bright sunlight of South Africa was flooding the lobby as they killed time. _

_ “Xavier isn’t in the habit of trustin’ too many outside of his own right now. That’s why he didn’t take a seat on that fucking council. Besides, the old man probably put us on this one because he wanted us doin’ _something.”

_ “You feel trapped here?” Rogue asked through an arched eyebrow. _

_“Not a matter of what I feel._ _It’s the fuckin’ truth. Not much longer we can stay here, I suspect,” Logan muttered into his own coffee. At this, Rogue frowned._

_ “Why not? We have running water here. _ Hot _ running water. It’s the epicenter for mutants-” _

_ “Exactly my point,” Logan grumbled. _

_ “Well, hopefully we can learn something from this, and not come back empty-handed _ ,” _ Rogue muttered. _

_ “And yer prepared for this one, kid?” Logan asked, pulling a cigar from his back right pocket, and lighting it. _

_ “Of course I am. I’ve done reconnaissance before. It’s just spying on a couple of mutant leaders two blocks away,” she snorted, waving the smoke out of her face in disgust. “All we have to do is act nonchalant and rely on your hearing powers.” _

_ “I ain’t sure you could act nonchalant if you tried with all yer might,” Logan snorted, and Rogue frowned again. _

_ “What’s _ that _ supposed to mean?” Rogue asked. _

_ “Face it, kid. The way you’re bouncing around in yer chair in anticipation. The way ya can’t keep it together. Yer a bad actor,” Logan flicking some ash onto the overturned plastic coffee lid he’d pried off his disposable cup. Meanwhile, Rogue’s mouth fell open a little, before she closed it and narrowed her eyes, but still said nothing. _

_ “Aww, come on now. Don’t go gettin’ yer feelings hurt. Just callin’ ‘em like I see ‘em,” he muttered, pulling a flask from his pocket and pouring some whiskey into his lukewarm coffee. _

_ “It’s ten in the morning,” Rogue muttered as she stared at the flask with a scowl. _

_ “Then I’m startin’ late,” Logan shot back defensively, and Rogue’s frown deepened. _

_ It had been like this, between them. Ever since they started sparring. A short-tempered back-and-forth. Him pokin’ and pryin’, trying to figure her out, and she dodging nearly every question he had for her. And he was getting sick of it. So sick he wasn’t trying near as hard to be on his best behavior around her anymore. _

_ “Listen, kid. I don’t mean to pick on ya, but how long total were you even an X-Man?” Logan shot her a look, and Rogue rolled her eyes, _

_ “Like that matters,” Rogue muttered. “I was with my team for-” _

_ “I said as an _ X-Man. _ You avoidin’ the question again?,” Logan shot back, and she frowned. _

_ “I avoid stupid questions,” Rogue grumbled, sitting back in her chair. When he didn’t respond, she sat up a little straighter, before pulling her chair slightly forward, then leaned toward him a bit, so her hair fell gently in her face and Logan got a strong, deep whiff of that fucking scent. More whiskey, then. _

_ “Listen. You don’t know the first thing about me. You knew me at seventeen. And you keep thinking I haven’t aged a fucking day. I’m a fucking _ professional, _ and I’m _ not _ a bad actor. We used to do recon all the time, probably while you were off...doing whatever it was you were doing in Canada. And I was always as cool as a cucumber. I collected critical pieces of information more times than I can count. It’s just with you, I-” she immediately cut herself off, and Logan couldn’t help but grin insidiously. _

_ “Yes?” Logan asked devilishly, and Rogue only rolled her eyes. _

_ “It’s gotta be a stupid feral thing,” she mumbled. _

_ “Feral...thing?” he asked. _

_ “Don’t play dumb with me. You know what I mean. You...trip me up. All that stuff you _ don’t _ say,” she muttered. _

_ “What _ stuff?” _ he asked, pressing her. _

_ “Ugh. You know. That language you all have,” she grumbled. _

_ “Language?” he asked. _

_ “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Quit being facetious. You forget I had you up here,” she said, pointing to her head. “I know what you’re saying half the time, or like every other word. It’s just the other half that drives me crazy. It’s like trying to understand Portugese or something when you only speak Spanish.” _

_ “I ain’t sure what yer talkin’ about. There ain’t no ‘feral’ words kid. It’s not like that,” he shot back, partly in anger from how quickly she seemed to fucking figure him out. _

_ “Bullshit,” she said, and suddenly it was his turn to look at her with surprise etched in every feature. He said nothing, and she pressed on. _

_ “There are words. Clear words. And you express them loudly. With intensity,” Rogue muttered, a smoldering anger in her tone. _

_ Logan sat back a little in thought, before snubbing out the last of his cigar. _

_ “And why does that trip you up when it comes to me?” Logan asked quietly, eyes peering at Rogue carefully. Rogue stared at him for a few moments. _

_ “Why do you care?” she asked, and Logan only blinked at her for a few moments, once more thrown off by her answer in the form of a question. _

_ “I mean, really. You haven’t seen me in years, you tell me all this stuff about your past. Why do you wanna know?” she continued. Logan was quiet for a moment, before finally answering. _

_ “We’re teammates,” Logan muttered. _

_ “So are Storm and Blink,” Rogue retaliated. Logan’s eyes narrowed more, as he tried to guess what she was gettin’ at. _

_ “We were friends too...once,” Logan finally murmured. _

_ “Is that what we were?” she practically whispered. _

_ “You got another name for it?” he asked, before pouring the last of the whiskey into his coffee, guessing he’d need it. _

_ “Father figure?” she asked, her tone bordering on mocking. Logan practically snarled at this as he downed the rest of the spiked coffee. _

_ “I told ya already. I ain’t yer father,” he growled. _

_ “Fine. Teacher then,” she said through crossed arms. _

_ “Crush?” he barefly muttered, throwing a knowing glance at her, and then she blushed seven ways to Sunday. _

_ “Well, _ that’s _ a juvenile word,” she finally mumbled. _

_ “It ain’t if yer speaking feral. If you want a translation, I can do that for you,” he pressed, and she blushed even more, obviously flabbergasted, before her anger won out. _

_ “Listen, you brute. If we’re gonna do this mission, you need to stop treating me like some teenager. I think I’ve shown you several times over, especially on the sparring mat, what I’m capable of. Now,” she added, finally standing from the chair, her own coffee suddenly forgotten. “We’re going to be late if we don’t move our asses.” _

_ Logan only watched her stand, smirking quietly to himself, before he replied with a joking “Yes ma’am,” and stood. At the retort, she shot him a mischievous, still fiery look at him as he trailed behind her, and he couldn’t keep himself from throwing her a wink. _

_ — _

Something jolted suddenly, and Logan was up in mere seconds. Pain shot through his knuckles as he reflexively let the claws out, and looked around wildly. 

“Logan,” Storm said steadily, despite the fact she was less than a foot away from the adamantium. 

“_ Fuck,” _he muttered, withdrawing the claws instantly, running a bloodied hand through his hair. 

“Year?” he hoarsely asked, still trying to shake himself from the dream. Trenches. Nazi internment camps. Vietnam. He’d rather dream about anything else. 

“2017,” Storm murmured, looking at him with what could only be described as pity. Logan shoved it off, though, standing shakily.

“Sorry, ‘Ro. We’re here?” he asked, glancing out the cockpit window at the ice and stone of the cavern the Blackbird had landed in.

“Yes. Just arrived. You’re in charge of equipment and the readouts on the Blackbird. I’m going ahead with Blink.”

“I thought we were doin’ this together,” he grunted.

“We are. Nobody talks to Cypher until we’re all in one room. But we have to make contact first. They’re expecting us,” Storm said, and, with one final nod, walked towards the ramp, Blink faithfully following behind. 

Logan sighed, and then sniffed the air. _ Fuck. _All he could smell was nitrogen dioxide. Fuckin’ ice. And maybe...the slight scent of somethin’ else. People, probably. He looked down at the drying blood on his hands, and cursed, grabbing a wash rag from the back of the jet and wiping them off. Then, the jet read outs, and finally, he grabbed three provisional packs, one for each of them, before deplaning and entering the locking mechanism on the jet. The Blackbird was their most precious asset, and he’d be caught dead if one of these antarctic fuckers tried to hijack it. 

“Thanks for hanging in there, old gal,” Logan murmured, patting the plane, before stalking off to the entrance of yet another underground compound.

As he walked toward the double door at the far end of the cavern, he was surprised to see Blink and Storm still standing there.

“No one home?” he asked, heaving the packs to the ground. 

Storm sighed. “I radioed in during our descent. They granted us access. They know we’re here. I’m not sure what’s up,” she said.

“Perhaps they’ve changed their minds?” Blink said through a huff. They all had parkas on over their suits, and while the temperature in the hangar had to be far warmer than the desolate landscape above, the temperature was still below freezing. 

Just then, though, one of the doors opened to reveal two men in full riot gear, assault rifles pointed straight at them. Logan snarled, claws itching in his hands as he tensed up, even as Storm’s words, “Stand down, Wolverine” filled the alcove. He gritted his teeth as the guards stood there, and then Storm was speaking again.

“Please tell Cypher the X-Men, Charles Xavier’s team, have arrived,” Storm said in a voice so authoritative the guards looked at each other, and then beckoned them inside.

“Stinks already,” Logan snarled under his breath, grip tightening on his own pack as they were led into a large foyer, as an involuntary “holy _ fuck” _escaped his lips. There were carpets on the fucking floor. Furniture. Electricity so bright it felt like they were above ground.

Logan shot a look to Storm, who only frowned, as they were told to wait there. Blink sighed exasperatedly, and Logan simply bided his time, trying to control his standoffishness, until the guards returned with a young, almost _ too _ young blonde man in an expensive suit and tie. Still though, Logan saw through the ruse of the attire. _ Late twenties, maybe, _ Logan guessed, as he nodded to each of them. _ Too fuckin’ young to lead. _

“Professor Xavier’s infamous X-Men. Welcome,” Cypher said, extending his hand for Logan to shake. Logan only smirked and gestured to Storm.

“She’s in charge, bub,” Logan muttered, and Cypher immediately shot a look to the woman, instantly realizing his mistake.

“My apologies...Storm, yes? You’re team leader?” he asked. Logan could practically feel the heat of anger coming off the woman, as she shook his hand. 

“Yes. And these are my teammates, Wolverine and Blink,” Storm said stiffly.

“Of course,” Cypher said. 

“Friendly welcome you got there, pal,” Logan muttered, gesturing to the guards and their guns, and Cypher frowned for a moment. 

“In these times, you can never be too careful, Wolverine. Regardless, thank you for travelling all this way. Welcome to the Citadel. Shall we show you around?”

  
  


\--

It was better than North Point, in almost every way. There were actual rooms with decent furniture. There was a rec room, a cafeteria. Logan marveled at the amount of energy it must take to power a place like this, until they learned they had a resident here who could produce nuclear energy within himself, and that’s what made the generators run. 

The only fucking problem was that it felt _ empty. _Logan could hear heartbeats, hundreds of ‘em, but not a soul could be found in the hallways, or in any public meeting area. It put Logan on edge, and he found himself tailing the group, keeping an eye out to the left and right. Finally, he spoke up about it. 

“And where _ is _everyone?” he asked rudely, only to be thrown a nasty look by Storm.

“Curfew begins at 1800 hours, Wolverine,” Cypher answered promptly.

“6 at night? Seems a little early,” Logan muttered

“It’s for their own protection,” Cypher said.

“Just like those assault rifles you got there?” Logan asked gesturing towards the guards, before Storm retorted with, “That’s enough, Wolverine.”

“It’s alright. We’ve all heard of the X-Men and their distaste of weapons-” Cypher began

“-Trust me, pal. That’s changed. The Bird’s fully weaponized-”

“But we’re in the middle of a war. We don’t take that lightly,” Cypher finished, despite Logan’s interruption.

Suddenly, a _ click _of a door opening to the right, and Logan and the two guards whirled around to watch a young woman, no older than twenty, also scarred with a hideous M on her face, peek her head out of the room.

“Mr. Ramsey? Sir, _ please. _I know it is past curfew. But my request for more formula-”

“Of course, Margaret. Smithfield,” Cypher said to one of the guards, who immediately disappeared. 

“It will be delivered to you,” Cypher said, and the meek woman nodded quickly, before suddenly shutting the door closed.

“The _ fuck?” _Logan muttered under his breath, much to a death glare from Storm.

“Talk to me about your government,” Storm said, changing the subject, as they began walking down the hallway again.

“Hardly a government, Storm. I and a few of my trusted comrades make the decisions and laws. We essentially decide what’s best for the people.”

“These comrades of yers elected?” Logan couldn’t help himself in asking.

“_ No,” _Cypher bit back, and Logan shot another look to Blink and Storm.

“Then you got yerself a monarchy, or an oligarchy _ at best _on yer hands, bub. Not a democracy,” Logan growled as they now had stopped walking, standing outside a closed door, identical to the ones before it. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but we never communicated to Xavier that we _ were _ a democracy, Wolverine. But we _ do _ take the people’s needs under consideration. Obviously from what you just witnessed,” Cypher said tiredly. Logan watched then, as Storm stepped in once more. 

“So Cypher-”

“Douglas Ramsey, please. Douglas, if you like,” he said, and Storm smiled slightly.

“Alright, _ Douglas. _Charles Xavier has written out his formal requests regarding an alliance-”

“-I think that can wait until tomorrow, can’t it Storm?”

“Ororo Munroe,” Storm offered, and now it was Cypher’s turn to smile, although somethin’ about it put Logan off even more.

“Ororo,” Ramsey corrected himself.

“It could, except that the Professor insisted we be immediate in our request-”

“Tomorrow morning, I promise,” Ramsey interrupted, and something deep in Logan’s chest rumbled in contention as they were led into a one bedroom square room, with a small washroom off to the side. It was lightly furnished, but Storm immediately frowned at the one double bed in the room.

“Apologies for the close quarters, but we don’t let anyone sleep on their own here. Everyone has someone to look out for, and since there are three of you, I can’t let anyone be on their own. Even if he has a healing factor,” Ramsey grumbled, nodding toward Logan. Logan only frowned, crossed his arms, and said nothing. 

“This will do,” Storm muttered, and then Cypher was saying his goodnights, closing the door behind him. They waited for the footsteps of the guard and Ramsey to diminish, until they were sure they were alone. 

“Surprised he didn’t lock us in,” Blink mumbled, throwing down her pack on the floor.

“It isn’t necessarily bad protocol, having people room together,” Storm said tiredly, rubbing her temples as she set her own pack in exhaustion. Then, she looked up to Logan, and he must have been obvious, because she added, “We already know what _ you _think, Logan, so spare me the details,” she snapped.

“He’s lying about something,” Logan growled anyway, throwing a glance over to the door, which Logan had taken up pacing in front of. He had already scanned the room for any tech, cameras or microphones, but finding no evidence of anything like that, he had relaxed by an infinitesimal degree.

“You think?” Blink asked, as she sat on a nearby bench, peeling off her gloves that went with her uniform.

“I know,” Logan growled. “We need to contact Charles immediately.”

Storm frowned at this, shaking her head slightly. 

“I tried on the flight. He’s not responding,” she sighed, running a hand through her shortly cropped hair, sitting down on the bed. 

“He’s been in the habit of that too much lately. He knows we’re on a fucking mission-” Logan began, before he was interrupted by Storm once again.

“It’s a gesture of peace. Hardly a _ mission,” _Storm retorted.

“Oh _ come on, _‘Ro,” Logan snarled, stopping his pacing for a moment to face Storm, who was still sitting on the bed.

“You think Cypher is not who he says he is?” Blink interrupted from off to the side of the room.

“Oh he is who he says he is alright, but he’s hiding somethin’,” Logan muttered.

“What would he have to hide? He’s shown us everything. We’ve got a full report on him. It was in the brief. He’s been fighting for mutant rights for decades. Not a shred of evidence he would work against us,” Storm retorted, working her own gloves off her fingers now.

“Look around you ‘Ro. I heard heartbeats, _ hundreds _ of ‘em. But not a single word. No fuckin’ conversation. What is it, 2100 hours? Everyone in this fucking complex sleeping at nine at _ night? _No way. They ain’t talkin’ because they’re fucking terrified,” Logan said.

“_ Our _ people are terrified,” Storm offered.

“Of _ sentinels. _ Not of JP. Or of Charles. Or _ you,” _he added. Storm only sighed again, staring at Logan helplessly, before looking over to Blink.

“What do you think, Clarice?” she asked simply. The slim, Asian woman looked from Storm to Logan, and then back again, before answering.

“I don’t want it to be true, but Logan is right. Something _ is _off,” she murmured.

“Ramsey might just be overly protective-” Storm began.

“Or he’s hidin’ something. Call Charles again,” Logan demanded.

“I just _ did _. No one is responding,” she snapped, before biting her lip in tension.

For a while, none of the mutants spoke as Logan kept up his pacing, as they began to realize that they were out of options.

“There’s nothing we can do tonight, Logan,” Storm finally vocalized for the rest of the group. “We can be on guard tomorrow, pay extra attention. Maybe even come up with an evac plan if we have to, but for now, we should rest,” Storm finished, glancing over to Blink, who looked as exhausted as the rest of them.

Logan sighed deeply, planting his feet finally and dropping his arms. 

“Yer right, ‘Ro. Sorry. Look, you gals take the bed. Floor’s fine by me,” he muttered, nudging his pack on the floor that lay beside him one foot.

“Liar. You’re not sleeping,” she muttered.

“I just might,” Logan said. “But I’ll let ya both get settled first. Gonna stand watch outside, see if I notice anything else fuckin’ _ off-putting,” _he said, nodding to them both. Storm nodded back to her colleague, friend, and teammate, before throwing a glance to Blink.

“Just like all those old slumber parties, eh, Clarice?” she asked through a tired smile.

“My mother wouldn’t let me have sleepovers. Too distracting to my academics,” Blink said through a frown, although she picked up her pack and walked over to the bed, now rifling through it to see what generic overnight garments were provided.

“We don’t have popcorn or an ouija board or a decent romcom to watch anyway,” Storm grumbled.

“We don’t need to be inviting the devil into this place anyhow,” Logan muttered, and Storm rolled her eyes.

“I thought you were standing watch,” she retorted, and Logan grinned, despite himself.

“Alright, alright,” he mumbled, and, without another word, he opened the door and gently shut it closed behind him.

\--

_ The room was bustling with people. Women in dresses shorter than they ever have been, bare ankles and tall heels. Silver and white balloons, hundreds of ‘em, floating from the ceiling, it bein’ New Years Even and all. A band, playin’ jazz hot and loose, like it was meant to be played. _

_ He liked this speakeasy, but he fuckin’ hated wearin’ a suit and a goddamn tie. But the occasion called for it, and as he tried to loosen the strip of fabric around his neck he nodded to his buddy Winston, before makin’ a beeline straight for the bar. _

_ A woman in a green silk dress. “Owner says it’s on the house for you boys.” _

_ “That right?” Logan muttered, taking the glass of whiskey from her gloved hands. _

_ “You manage to smuggle in the best stuff, stuff he can charge triple for. He’s just not sure how you all do it. Especially this winter. It’s below freezin’ out there.” _

_ “You should try Canada, girl. Winters ain’t nothin’ here,” he grumbled, tapping the empty glass for another. “Three fingers this time.” _

_ “You ever meet Capone?” she asked, sliding the full glass again across the bar. _

_ “No,” Logan sighed. “You?” _

_ “Once. Well, kinda. His boys came through town. Thought we caught a glimpse of his car.” _

_ “That’s swell,” Logan muttered, before downing the second drink. “Doubt he’s standing out in the cold freezing his ass off while the beer freezes in the barrels.” _

_ “Doubt it,” she murmured. “Another?” _

_ And then...the same green dress. The same room. The same jazz. But… no suit and tie. Instead, an X-Men uniform. Black leather. No. Wait…. _

_ “Been meanin’ to ask you,” she said, as she shoved another glass of bourbon his way. “Why do you drink _ so _ much _ , _ sugar?” _

_ He only blinked at her, and then frowned. _

_ “Because it always hurts,” he muttered, tossing back the bourbon. She frowned then, tucking a strand of platinum hair behind her ear as she stared down at the empty glass between them. _

_ “Don’t I know it,” she whispered to the floor. He frowned as she refilled it for him. _

_ “During Prohibition, I ran booze down from Canada along the Eastern Seaboard,” he offered. _

_ “You and Capone,” she teased. _

_ “Never met him,” Logan grumbled, before adding, “One winter, it was so cold, the beer froze in the barrels.” _

_ “You don’t say. That’s cold,” she murmured. _

_ “Sure is,” he agreed. _

_ And then…. _

“Logan,” Storm’s voice cut through the haze. “Logan!”

“Wha- _ What?” _he snarled, snapping up off the sleeping bag on the floor.

“The P-Professor,” Storm said, and he noted the rise of panic in her voice. She was only in a tank top and sweatpants, and Blink was standing in half her uniform and a t-shirt herself, alert and tense. Logan was still fully dressed, never intending to have fallen asleep in the first place. _ Goddamnit. _

“Storm. What is it?” he hissed, and then she was shoving a comm in his ear, even though he didn’t need it. Chuck’s voice was suddenly in his head. 

_ Logan, you need to bring the Blackbird back immediately. Erik has reason to believe your mission has been compromised. _

“Wha? Compro-” he began.

_ Logan, think what you want to say. Do not use the comm to speak to me. That’s not why Storm gave it to you. _

_ What’s wrong, Professor? _

_ You need to get to the Blackbird and bring it home. North Point is under threat of attack. _

_ How? Why? _

_ Cypher has compromised North Point’s position in exchange for protection from the US Armed Forces. _

“Mother _ FUCKER!” _Logan growled, nodding to Blink, before the door opened quickly, and the man of the hour along with about twelve guards poured into the room, assault rifles once more pointed at them all. All of the X-Men took battle-ready stances, the slice of metal jutting through Logan’s hands instinctively and instantaneously. Ramsey raised his eyebrows as Logan’s blood dripped to the floor and Logan bared his teeth, but Ramsey was still careful and steady with his words. 

“I’m sorry, but they promised us protection,” he said somenly.

“Yeah. Just heard. One question for ya. Are you _ fuckin’ insane?” _Logan snarled, taking one step closer to Ramsey, and all the guards cocked their guns. 

“You can stand down, Wolverine. Just like your woman told you last night. Fighting is hopeless. We have already given them you’re location and they are _ en route _to drop bombs on North Point as we speak.”

“-Based off _ what?-” _Logan interrupted.

“The coordinates inside your plane. We _ do _ have teleporters here,” Ramsey said calmly.

“Betrayin’ your own _ goddamn kind,” _Logan snarled.

“For all intents and purposes, _ you _ are not our _ kind. _We live for and protect ourselves. And I cannot let you leave. ” he said stiffly.

“There are _ children _ at North Point,” Storm said, her voice breaking with emotion.

“There are children _ here,” _Ramsey said.

“You have just sentenced _ a hundred innocent _ lives to _ death,” _Storm hissed. 

“A necessary sacrifice,” Ramsey hissed back.

“And what are ya gonna do to keep us here? Hate to break to you, bub, but bullets don’t _ work _on me,” Logan snarled.

“Yes, I know. But they do work on the women,” he replied, and Logan outwardly growled. There were six automatic rifles pointed at both Blink and Storm. _ Fuck, fuck, FUCK. _

It was then, he caught Blink’s eye, and Logan made the smallest of nods. 

“You forgot one thing, pal,” Logan snarled, grinning insidiously at Ramsey.

“And what is that, Wolverine?” he asked coldly.

“We got somethin’ better than a teleporter,” Logan barely had time to say, and then Blink had created a portal in the floor, all three of them dropping through, landing hard on the steel floor of the Blackbird as the portal snapped shut.

Storm was flying over to the control panel in an instant, groaning as soon as she saw it. 

“Goddamnit! They somehow managed to turn her completely off. It’s going to take a few minutes!” Storm shouted.

“Blink,” was all Logan had to say, and the young woman nodded, and suddenly he was outside of the jet again, near the mouth of the cavern, just as the guards barged through the door, and it started raining ammunition. Ramsey was nowhere in sight, but Logan surged forward anyway, claws extended, intent to do what he did best. 

Spleen. Liver. Spinal column. Heart. Heart. Head. Juglar. The blood sprayed as he barely felt the pain from the gunfire, and he suddenly realized _ why _he had a comm in his ear. Charles had thought of everything, in no more than mere seconds since he had been tipped off.

“Blink! Get me back in there!” Logan shouted.

“We’re online!” Storm yelled, and then Logan practically fell through a portal back into the jet. Logan was on his feet in a second though, doused in the blood of his enemies even as he sheathed his claws. He whipped around to Blink, whose eyes were wide and who was shaking her head through tears.

“I know what you want, and I can’t. Not that big. Not that far,” she was murmuring over and over again, and Logan had to shout over her. 

“Today’s yer day, Clarice. Yer gonna set a fucking record. The Bird can’t get there in time, but you can get us there _ now.” _

“Logan, you’re asking_ too much _of her,” Storm began, before gunfire reigned on the paneling.

“No I ain’t! Blink, I’ve seen you move fifty people at a time hundreds of miles away,” Logan was pleading with her, and as more guards fired on the jet, he added “Storm, shoot something at them!” 

“I can’t! It could compromise the structural integrity of the cavern! If they won’t open the doors for us, we’re stuck!” 

“Clarice-” Logan began, rounding on her again. The younger woman was shaking, crying, gripping the sides of her seat. 

“God _ fucking _ damn it, do it, Blink!” Logan was shouting as more gunfire _ pinged _ the sides of the jet and it shuddered violently. And that’s when Blink started screaming, as a giant, amorphous black and purple void opened up in front of the Blackbird, big enough for the jet to go through. _ Fucking hell. _

“Storm. Punch it!” Logan snarled. 

“Ten steps ahead of you. Sit the fuck down and strap yourself in unless you wanna fly through the windsheild!” she screamed.

“Go! Now! Go! I don’t know how long I can-” Blink was screaming at them, sweat pouring down her temple, tears streaming down her face. 

And they were hurling forward, through the void, and then the plane dropped hundreds of feet as Storm cursed. “Fuck! The tail wing took damage!” And she pulled the helm up before the plane rocketed forward, leveling out. 

“_ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry _,” Blink was near hyperventilating, and Logan unstrapped himself in a second after the fall, leaning in front of the woman, looking at Blink directly in the eye, either of his bloody hands on hers.

“Listen kid, you did good. But we’re not done yet. You need to tell me. Did we make it to North Point?”

“Y-Yes,” Blink whispered, and as Logan turned aroudn quickly to peer out the front windsheild, he added, “Storm, can we do something about this fucking fog?!”

“It’s- it’s not fog,” Storm said through a constrained gasp, and then Logan took a whiff of the air, even as it was recycled through the cabin. _ No _. Carbon monoxide, carbon dioxide, nitrogen oxide. Fire. Rubble. Smoke. 

They were too late. 

“_ Fuck!” _he snarled. “Blink! Can you get me down there?” he asked the woman, turning back around to her. 

“Logan, it’s not safe!” Storm screamed from the cockpit.

“It is for me. There’s nothing down there that can kill me, and I can look for survivors.”

“A _ Sentinel _ can kill you, Logan,” Storm snapped. Logan fronwed, and took another sniff of the air. 

“Don’t smell the rust buckets anywhere. Still though, keep in constant contact with me, ok, Clairce? And ‘Ro? Circle the disaster zone. Make sure the sentinels _ are _ gone _ . _And somebody get Charles back in communication! Ensure everyone’s not dead at headquarters, too.”

“Logan-” Storm said, throwing him a desperate look. Logan swallowed hard, and nodded.

“John. I know. I’ll look for him,” Logan muttered, and then a new portal was swirling in front of him, and he fought back an image of _ her _pushing him through a different portal, only to be greeted by the scent of rubble, smoke, and blood.

\--

His lungs immediately convulsed and protested as he inhaled the billowing smoke while his boots made contact with the debris and wreckage of North Point. Fresh blood was still dripping from his body from the fighting at the Citadel, but now he was also caked in a white soot, and he wiped his eyes to be able to see anything through the chaos. Instantly, he regretted it. His stomach lurched, as his eyes took in something he hadn’t seen in a long, long time. Bodies, everywhere. Men, women, children. People, crushed. Blood, pooling. 

_ The water stained red. A private by the name of Bell shot through the neck, his best friend at the time. Waterlogged faces, bloated and white, floating in the low tide of Normandy beach. Empty, dead eyes. Gutted like fish. _

_ Logan… _

_ Logan! _

“What?!” he snarled, and then was fully brought out of the memory by realizing who was speaking to him.

_ Jesus. Thank god, Charles. Please fucking tell me headquarters is in one piece. _

_ Yes, it is. Listen, reinforcements are on the way, but you are our first responder. We need your help. _

_ There ain’t nothin’ left here, Charles. Everyone’s dead. _

_ Use the gifts nature gave you, friend. Find them. Find their heartbeats. _

_ Charles- _

But the presence in his mind was gone, and so, Logan did the only thing he knew how to do: he listened. Hard. _ Heartbeats, heartbeats. Breathing. Anything. _

Suddenly, a groan, twenty yards ahead. Then Logan’s legs were forcing him forward, struggling to climb over debris and remains alike, only to find a middle aged man--_ god, his name. Gavin, maybe?- _ struggling to breathe, a large concrete column crushing his legs and chest. 

“L-Logan?” he coughed, spitting up blood, as Logan crouched down by the man. 

“Hey bub. We’re gonna get you outta here, alright?” Logan muttered, trying to assess if the column was safe enough to move off him. 

_ Best friends being shot in the neck, the water stained red. Empty, dead eyes. Waterlogged. _

Logan snarled as he shook the memory off again, and regained his focus.

“Alright. Gavin, right? Gonna move this now, get it off you. Sound ok?”

“Ok. Yeah. O-Ok,” he wheezed, and then Logan growled as he heaved what was easily over three hundred pounds off the man, and that’s when he started screaming. _ Collapsed lung. Shattered ribs, pelvic bone, femur. Bleedin’ internally. _He wasn’t likely to make it. But Logan would be damned if he died in this god forsaken pit. 

“Blink!” was all Logan needed to shout into the comm, and then a portal was opening, and Logan was carefully picking him up, moving Gavin through the divide and laying him down on the floor of the jet. 

“Keep him steady,” Logan muttered, frantically stalking back through Blink’s portal. _ Listen, listen. _He tried to breathe evenly, his own heart pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely hear anything over it.

He was getting an idea of what had been where now, and he climbed through the wreckage, further north, to where the control center was. He remembered the look in Storm’s eyes when she had asked him, and now Logan was afraid to find out the answer. 

He had it in moments. Everyone was dead in the control center, and one man with thick, brown hair had had his head bashed in by debris. Logan looked away suddenly, a wave of rare nausea overtaking him.

_ Soldiers being pushed into the ground, stepped over, people fleeing the trenches as poisonous gas flooded the camp. The rain was a torrential downpour, the mud, thick like peanut butter. _

_ Another private, Theodore, slowly bleedin’ out to death. _

_ “You can make it, James. You always do. If you find her, tell Irene I loved her.” _

_ Focus Logan, _ he heard Charles’ voice once more, and again Logan snarled, stumbling out of the control room, his voice hoarse as he was barely able to murmur “S-Storm-” into the comm.

“Yes?” her voice, shaky on the other end. For a moment, he said nothing, just breathing out, as he heard her gently begin to cry. He hung his head for a moment, wiping the grit out of his eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and, finally, he heard her choke out, “Just keep looking for others.”

_ Listen. Keep listening. _

_ There. _A strong, steady heartbeat. Someone alive. Someone, maybe not even injured. 

Logan surged forward, down the wreckage of the former hallway, when it began to click.

_ Don’t die. _

_ Not possible for either of us, kid. You know that. Take care, alright? _

Something in Logan quaked as he stumbled forward, to the place he had spent enough nights in that sometimes he called it “home.” Now, it was plastic brutally warped, the smell of burnt flesh, and rubble. But, among it, the strong, steady heartbeat.

As he turned a corner, he found her there, a broken, small body in her arms. 

“Sable?” Logan’s voice wavered, as she quickly turned to him, angry tears streaming down her cheeks. She was holding little Ida’s hand, but the girl wasn’t breathing. The girl was dead. 

“_ What _ are _ you _doing here?!” she sobbed, snarling at him as he tried to take a step closer. He kept his hands in the air, showing he meant no harm, as he growled gently, trying to get her to understand.

“Baby-” he finally murmured in English, still stepping closer.

“_ Don’t _ call me that,” she sobbed, bringing the body closer to her chest, stroking what was left of the girl’s white hair. 

_ “Logan! Logan! What did you bring me this time?” She smiled and twirled around the main room, jumping into his arms. He swung her around for a minute and then held her closer, breathing in the warm, natural scent of her hair, as Sable smiled, arms cooly crossed as she watched the two together from the other side of the room. _

_ “Somebody special might’ve told me you have a thing for chocolate,” he said, as he easily sat her down on the folding chair by the card table. She smiled, her purple eyes alit with magic. _

_ “Oh yes, I do! But only Hershey’s. Not Nestle,” she said seriously, as he instantly pulled a chocolate bar from his leather jacket pocket. Ida gasped, and flung herself at him again, a rare chuckle from Logan escaping his lips. _

_ “I didn’t forget about ya, kid. How could I?” he said, kissing the crown of her head _

Now, he tore his eyes away from the girl, staring down instead at his boots.

“You can’t stay here,” he said flatly.

“I’m _ not _ leaving my child,” she hissed,

“Sable, I need you to tell me what happened here,” he said, trying to regain his composure.

“Sable…” he tried again, but she was sobbing once more.

“She was the only thing I was living for,” Sable gasped, and Logan breathed out steadily, thinking carefully before answering.

“Yer gonna keep living. People like us...never die,” he said through a hoarse voice.

“_ Shut up,” _she hissed instantly, whipping her head to stare at him. Her eyes, her grief, her broken spirit, still beautiful. 

“Just… shut up. You’re _ lying, _and you damn well know it. We can die,” she said, staring up at him once more, an eerie determination overtaking her features. “There’s a lake three miles away. It’ll do.”

“Sweetheart...” Logan’s voice shook, but she snarled out of grief once more, clutching Ida closer to her, moving away from him. 

“Go. Help the others,” she whispered. He only stared at her desperately for a few long moments, before giving in.

“Who’s alive?” he asked. 

“Four units down, I think I hear Diana. Rick,” she murmured. Logan sighed, and then shakily began to walk away from her. He hesitated, though, before leaving.

“Sable, I-” he began, but was cut off.

“Go,” she murmured. “And don’t ever come back.” 

  
  


\--

It was quiet and hot inside the small conference room, stainless steel tables shoved together and lukewarm coffee on a pot in the back corner. Logan sat next to Storm, who hadn’t said more than five words since finding out about John, not that Logan had said much either. This was the official debrief, and nobody was looking forward to it. There were a handful of mutants in here, three that had been staying at headquarters at the time of the bombing, and now what was left of the X-Men: Logan, Storm, Blink, Charles and Erik. 

“Eighty three lives lost, eight severly injured,” Magneto had been saying.

“And Jean Paul. The rest of Alpha Flight?” one of the other mutants muttered.

“All dead,” Erik said solemnly. Logan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and when he saw Storm’s hands shaking, he calmly placed his own heavy one on hers. To his surprise, she gripped it tightly, silent tears falling down her cheeks. 

Logan shot a look over to Blink, who was tearless, and stoically silent.

“Our resident healer, as well,” Charles said simply, and Logan gritted his teeth.

“And what about Antarctica?” Storm interrupted. “The base there?” 

“Infiltrated by US Armed Forces as soon as you left it. Of course the humans weren’t going to let them live. Cypher was a fool to think otherwise,” Magneto said cooly.

“Goddamnit,” Logan cursed under his breath.

“So another hundred and fifty innocent lives Cypher decided to gamble with lost at the Citadel,” Erik added. He paused momentarily, looking around the room, and then finally spoke again.

“We have discussed it, and it’s time for us to leave Canada.”

“But Canada is our _ home,” _Storm whispered, and Logan’s grip tightened around the woman’s hand.

“My dear, I know you have suffered great loss. But we were denied _ homes _long before we set up base here. You know this,” Erik said. Logan shot a look to Charles, who had barely spoken, and Logan realized Charles refused to meet Logan’s eyes. 

“This is where I take my leave of you, then,” a voice to Logan’s right said quietly, and he realized quickly it was Blink who had spoken.

“Kid-” Logan began, but Magneto cut him off.

“Let her speak,” Erik said crisply. It was then, she turned, staring right at Logan.

“What you asked of me..._ I did. _But no longer,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly.

“Where will you go?” Erik asked.

“I am not sure. Home, maybe. To China,” she murmured.

“Didn’t you hear what Magneto just said, kid? We ain’t got _ homes. _ And China’s even worse, you _ know _that,” Logan protested, pulling his hand back from Storm, looking Blink dead in the eye.

“It’s where I am from,” Blink simply offered.

“But-”

“Logan,” Charles finally spoke, looking at the older mutant for the first time since the debrief began. “Let her go.”

Logan sighed hard, before looking up to Blink once more.

“I know asked too much from you, kid,” he said. It was the closest thing he could get to apologizing.

“And no one is a prisoner to our cause. Any of you, always, are free to leave at any time. And thank you, Clarice, for all you’ve done,” Magneto offered.

Blink only nodded at Erik, shot a look at Storm and Logan, before standing, nodding to them all, and showing herself out. Logan watched her go, realizing just what they were losing. There was a pause in the debrief, as each mutant looked at one another, before Erik spoke again.

“You three-” he said, looking at the other silent mutants.

“We plan to stay here at headquarters, try to radio in more mutants, look after those that are injured. We hope to become a safe haven for those who are wandering,” one of them said, and Erik nodded solemnly in response. 

“Logan, Ororo?” was all Charles had to ask, as the pair glanced at each other. Finally, Storm looked to Charles, her voice wavering as she spoke.

“I will follow you until the end, Professor,” she said, before glancing at Logan.

“We’re not goin’ anywhere, Charles,” Logan muttered, and Xavier nodded at them both.

“Rest, then. We leave at first light,” Charles said quietly.

Logan had already stood at this point, helping Storm to her feet, and the two of them quietly and tiredly left the conference room, walking down the long hall.

Finally, Storm spoke once more.

“Sable?” Storm asked quietly, looking up to Logan.

“Ida’s dead,” is all Logan could bring himself to say, because, simply, he didn’t know the rest.

Storm said nothing, although a dark, faraway look had settled in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, ‘Ro. About John,” Logan finally muttered, just as they reached Storm’s room. It was then, she turned to him, eyes now tearless, a solemn, bitter look engraved on her every feature. 

“You know what the worst part of it all is?” she whispered bitterly, looking at Logan blankly. “We’ve been hiding in the dark like rats for so long, I’d grown used to it. I...I almost thought I could make a new life. That I could be _ happy,” _she murmured, and it was all Logan could do but look at her helplessly.

“‘Ro-” he began.

“Goodnight, Logan,” she muttered, silently moving into her room, and shutting the door abruptly behind her. He breathed out steadily, simply standing there for a moment, still.

_ To die. To sleep. _

Always, folks seein’ death for what it wasn’t instead of what it was; _ commonplace. _

_ Another life, sugar. A better one. _

“...Goodnight,” he muttered to the steel door, before stalking off down the long, empty hall, once more alone.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely @bluefrogsbestfrogs who edited this beast for me.


	4. Chapter 3: To Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for the Google Translate Arabic. I have students I teach who speak it, but I don't know them well enough to ask them to translate my fanfiction. :P If anyone out there speaks it (or speaks Spanish, for that matter), please message me or hit me up on Tumblr. I'm in desperate need of a translator. ;P

**Chapter 3: ** ** _To Need_ **

** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, April 2015_ **

** _Richmond, Virginia_ **

_ It wasn’t like this shit was easy, _ Logan reminded himself as he awkwardly stepped out of the rented car, courtesy of Yashida industries. The building was a sprawling one-story, basic and almost utilitarian in style. Red brick, box-like windows. The smells instantly hit him. Incontinence. Windex. Vinyl. The sky was overcast and there was still a residual winter chill in the air. Something in his chest felt wrong, off, and he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. _ Shoulda brought fuckin’ flowers _, he thought to himself. 

It had been a short but painful homecoming from Japan. Everywhere he went, memories springing up like weeds. Memories he thought were lost forever. The wars were one thing. Nagasaki. Vietnam. Normandy. But the women...Jesus. The women were another.

Most of ‘em he hadn’t given a damn about. Settling between a woman’s thighs after a drunken night out had happened more times than he’d care to count. Whole parts of centuries of whorin’ around. But every few decades or so, somebody would make him forget. Forget the pain, the loneliness, the nightmares. He was still goin’ by the name of James for all three, and they all were long before Stryker got his filth fuckin’ hands on him. 

Three women, from what he could guess, that had meant somethin’ more. He was still puttin’ it all together, the flashes of image. The late nights, the dinners, the wooing. One, he’d got down on one knee for, after the first World War. But the marriage hadn’t happened. She’d found out what he really was after a nightmare had turned bloody, and afterward she had left him. 

One in the late nineteenth century too, from what he guessed by the attire. He’d gone through all the fuckin’ trouble of getttin’ on her parents’ good side too, until Tuberculosis struck the entire family. He’d helped bury everyone but her younger brother and a great aunt. More bodies than there were living souls sendin’ em off on that day. Death, always knockin’ on every door but his own.

The last had been in the fifties, before things really went off the rails and he smoke and drank and did a hell a lot of stuff he didn’t have a name for from Vietnam on. But before that...before…

Her name had only recently come to him. Evelyn. Evelyn Belle Burnstein. Her family had been from Virginia, just north of Fredericksburg. The first memory that had come back to him...he’d been sulking at a bar on the northside of town after being laid off from the local paper mill, emptying his wallet on a few bottles of booze, when a couple of assholes had been givin’ her and her girlfriend trouble. He’d scared ‘em off, broke one of the guys’ noses, and they had scrammed. The little blonde friend had been spooked by the violence and had found a pay phone for a ride home, but Evelyn, she stayed, even as the bartender tossed a rag his way and he wiped the blood off his left hand where he’d socked the kid. He shoulda been kicked outta the joint for that, but he was a regular, and often a generous customer with his wallet. She didn't seem phased by any of it, and, instead, she asked him questions, smiled boldly. After another drink, she had even goaded him into walking her back to her place, since her car was still in Williamsburg at school. It took ‘em less than ten minutes, strollin’ near the empty streets of the suburb, edging the fields of a civil war battleground that was now a public park. 

_ “I intend to be a lawyer,” she said, her cute, button nose held proudly in the air, after admitting she was a senior in her undergraduate coursework at William and Mary. She was home visiting family in Spotsylvania county over her spring break, and had gone out dancing with “Mary, but she’s sometimes a real flake.” _

_ “A lawyer, eh?” he said with a smirk, hands once more in his pockets of his leather jacket, an odd smile playing on his lips. _

_ “What? You don’t think women can be lawyers?” she asked, obviously having to come to her own defense dozens of times in the past. Still though, he was having a hard time focusing on anythin’ but the way her curled, brown hair graced her shoulders. He threw her another grin, and shook his head slightly. _

_ “‘Course they can. And from everything I’m seein’, that’s about the only career field you should consider. Although maybe stop wearin’ pink if you wanna be taken seriously,” he grinned devilishly at her. She blushed, staring down at her dress and matching gloves for a minute as she wrung her hands, and for a second he thought he had mistaken a wallflower for a spitfire, prey for predator, but then she came to her senses and smacked him with her purse as they got closer to her street. _

_ “I’m staying at my parents’ place. I have to dress like this. They only pay for college because they think it’s how I’ll find someone to go steady with, even though it’s nearly been four years and I’m two months away from my degree,” she said with a devious, beautiful smile. “Most of the girls in my graduating class are married with babies already. And honestly, I’m the only Jewish girl in my town so maybe they always expected something...more.” _

_ “What’s you being Jewish gotta do anything with graduating college?” he asked, and she sighed. _

_ “We’re all supposed to be smart,” she said, looking at him with concern, as if he was supposed to know this. _

_ “That ain’t quite fair. Sounds like some stereotyping bullshit,” he muttered. _

_ She only shrugged her shoulder. “Some stereotypes are based on truth.” _

_ “Guess so….” he drifted off, before adding, “So...that ain’t in the cards for you?” _

_ “What?” she asked. _

_ “Finding someone to ‘go steady with’?” he pressed. Again, she blushed the color of her dress. _

_ “Well...if the right guy came along. But he’d have to be Jewish. And tall. And a straight-A student. And he’d have to accept that my career comes first. No General Electric housewife horse shit for me like Nancy Meyers and her three blonde brats,” she retorted, and his smile grew. She talked the rest of the way back. Animatedly, with her hands, and he found himself oddly clinging to every word. Usually he avoided women this young, they didn’t have their heads on straight yet, but this one…..well. Anyway, he hadn’t told her he had a bike, takin’ the opportunity to talk to the brunette with such staunch opinions of Eisenhower and how he shouldn’t be in office. _

_ “I trust Republicans as far as I can throw them,” she said with a curt nod of her head. _

_ “And what if I’m a Republican?” he asked through a wink and she laughed out loud, an infectious, warm laugh, before threading an arm around his own, pretending to shiver in the spring air just so he’d pull her a bit closer. He noticed, and he grinned, sloughing off his jacket and offering it to her. She smiled widely, placing it over her delicate shoulders and then went back to holding his arm. _

_ “Being a Republican is not as much of a crime as being a gentile in my parents’ eyes,” she said. “Because...I’m assuming….you’re not Jewish?” _

Never went to school. 120 fuckin’ years old. Got bone claws that jut outta my hands. Haven’t been in a church or synagogue or whatever in decades, _ he thought tiredly, before responding with a simple, “Nope.” _

_ “Damn,” she murmured, still grinning. _

_ \-- _

_ Shoulda brought flowers, _ he thought again, just as he sighed, awkwardly making his way to the front desk. The smells were triple of what they had been, and just over a partition, he could see the lunch crowd finishing up. Wrinkled, elderly men and women, in clothing that matched, and sometimes clothing that didn’t. The place was nice, sure. Nicer than most. But he could hear the sound of pills being dispersed. Taste the chocolate pudding in the air. Smell the denture glue. Something heavy again in his chest. There was a reason why he’d never done this when he went by James. Why he never knocked on old doors, callin’ on the past to answer for itself. Usually it was the business of visiting gravesites at best, or seein’ people at the end of their lives at worst.

But Logan, the man after Stryker, he didn’t know better. A bumbling idiot, this guy, relearnin’ all the things it had taken decades for the former man to learn. Needless to say, some part of him knew he was in for some heartache. 

He cleared his throat, and the woman in scrubs clutching a clipboard in thick, tortoise shell glasses glanced at him, giving him the up and down.

“I’m here to pay Evelyn Burnstein a visit,” he said, and he realized his voice was hoarse. _ Probably all that fuckin’ liquor from last night, _he thought grimly.

“Miss Burnstien doesn’t normally have visitors, unless she needs to sign something regarding a matter of the firm. Are you... from the firm?” the woman stated, taking in his worn leather jacket, belt buckle, flannel shirt and boots. Logan frowned.

“No, uh, I’m not, ma’am. I’m...an old friend,” he barely ground out. Another once over, then a sigh from the woman clutching the clipboard. 

“Alright. What’s the harm? I’ll call down to her room and ask her. Can I have your name?” 

He blinked at her for a moment, and then muttered, “James.”

\--

_ “You can’t stay here,” she whined, throwing the comforter over his bare ass before tossing him his briefs. _

_ He’d only grinned at her. “Give a man a second, Evie. I just woke up,” he said, and yawned loudly. _

_ “Shhhhh!!!!” she chastized him. _

_ “What?” he asked through a tilt of his head. _

_ “This is the _ girl’s _ dormitory, Jamie! What do you _think?!”

_ He only snorted as he lackadaisically sat up a little, running a hand through his hair. _

_ “God, you gotta quit callin’ me that kid. No one’s ever called me that. Not even my own mother. And what? Can’t have a little fun with someone you been seein’ for a while now? Haven’t I taken ya to the pictures enough times to warrant it?” he muttered. At this, she only rolled her eyes. _

“_ Sure. Fine. Whatever. But we weren’t supposed to fall asleep until _ morning. _ And if they knew I brought a _ man, _ not a boy, but a fully grown, hairy _ man _ back to my dorm, I’d be toast,” she said crossing her arms, brown hair mussed from sex, still standing over him from her side of the twin bed, completely naked. Something in his chest rumbled in contentment at the sight of her, as a wicked thought struck him. _

_ “Hate to break it to ya, but from last night alone my guess is that you _ like _ sex. You like it a lot. And my other guess is that you’ve been with more men than boys, sweetheart,” he joked. And that’s when she looked him straight in the eye, frowned, and then smacked him clear across the face. _

_ “Fuck!” he yelled, and she only glared at him, hands on her hips. “That hurt, Evs,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw. _

_ “Language,” she teased, before he growled lowly, pawing for her once more, and her anger instantly disappeared as she giggled, despite herself. _

_ \-- _

Room 328. It seemed cold, really, that a woman’s life would be confined to a single room now, with a single number. And it didn’t make sense, if she had any say still in the firm that bore her name. She could afford her own place, with round the clock care, he assumed. He’d done enough research to know _ that. _

The woman in the glasses had only been on the phone for seconds, before hanging up and muttering, “She says she’ll see you. Room 328.” He sighed, head bowed, half terrified that he’d catch sight of her in the hallway or in the TV room or some place where they wouldn’t be able to talk in private. Would he even know it if he did see her? _ Yes, yes he would _ , something from deep inside told him. A person changed much over their lifetime, but their spirit, what Yukio had sometimes called a _ Seishin _, that stayed the same. And Logan could sense that on anyone, better than most. 

\--

_ “Why are we here?” she asked, carefully peering over the menu for _ Le Voltaire, _ the fanciest restaurant he knew of in Williamsburg. _

_ “What do ya mean, Evie? I told ya I was takin’ you out, didn’t I? A year of law school in the books and all,” he muttered, pulling on his neck tie uncomfortably. _

_ “You wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this usually. Something’s up,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “You just ordered wine. I haven’t seen you drink Merlot a day in your life.” _

_ “Kid…” he muttered. “Let me just do one nice thing for ya...without you makin’ a damn argument out of it for once,” he growled, and the pout that overtook her features had him feelin’ just a smidge of regret. But he’d taken a job at a smelting plant outside of Williamsburg for her. Rearranged his life. Had stayed put for more than his usual six months. _

_ “You’re...not gonna propose or anything...right, Jamie?” she finally said, and just as he whipped his head up from the menu in surprise, the bread and wine came. He muttered a vague thank you to the waiter, and then looked at Evelyn wildly. She was adorned in a black silk dress, her hair longer now and put up. _

_ “Are you crazy, woman? No. No fuckin’ way,” he said a little too harshly, downing the Merlot in one single gulp and reachin’ for the bottle to refill it. _

_ So what if he _ had _ been thinkin’ about it? He’d done it once before. Got down on one knee and everything. So, what if he had? _

Before you didn’t know you’d live so fuckin’ long, ya creep, _ a voice whispered in his ear. _

_ And anyway, that was only until the claws came out one night in he and Clara’s shitty, rented one-bedroom that had just been wired with electricity and every once in a while would spark and start small fires. The claws, the blood, and her then bags were packed the next day. He’d started bouncin’ for mobsters and runnin’ the booze circuit after that. _

_ Meanwhile, she was still frowning. _

_ “Good, because…” she finally said, before abruptly stopping. _

_ “What?” he said through a mild groan. _

_ “What, Evelyn?” he asked again, in a rare moment using her full name. _

_ “Well...you’re different than me, aren’t you?” she said, a knowing, taciturn look in her eyes. _

_ “You mean, because I’m not Jewish?” he asked, knowing that wasn’t it. That had never been it. _

_ “No,” she murmured. “Because...you’re...older. Different,” she barely whispered. _

_ “Ten years ain’t such a big difference,” he lied through his teeth. She only looked at him sadly, as he once more downed the rest of his wine. _

_ \-- _

With every step, he regretted his decision. With every step, he cursed Yukio’s name. It had been her, who had suggested this, before they parted ways. All that shit about _ Seishin. _And, sure, she’d been by his side for over a year, helping him settle old scores, payin’ up old debts. But that was different. That was different than when she’d suggested going back stateside, suggested burying the people who needed to be buried. 

_ She might still be alive, Yuk. _

_ Then she is lucky, and you need to speak with her, at least one last time. _

They’d parted ways then. He’d willfully ignored her advice, and had drifted around Tokyo another few months. And then, he had his made home. A puppet to her, or maybe to Mariko, or Jean, or even Rogue, or to all the other women in his life he’d let down. Maybe he could make it up to just this one.

Room 328. No flowers, no card, no gift, _ damnit. _ Fifty-eight years since the last time he’d laid eyes on her. Hell, even a bottle of whiskey would’ve done the trick. He paused outside of the door, quietly pacing it for a few moments, trying to get a hold of the beast barely restrained inside him, when he heard a quiet, yet somehow sharp, “Well, if you’re going to come in, _ come in.” _

He sighed, breathing out quickly, before pushing open the door. The room was filled with warm light, thank fuck. An elaborate bedspread, simple furnishings, the _ Torah _ on a nightstand, and, by the window, a thin woman with silver hair, a blanket around her shoulders, hands folded in her lap. She had to be... _ what? _Eighty or so, he guessed. She didn’t turn to look at him, and instantly it put him on guard. He wasn’t sure what to do, so he hovered there just inside the door he had just gently closed. For a moment, no one spoke, until Logan struggled to find his voice.

“Evie,” he finally muttered under his breath, and that’s when she turned to glance at him, the same piercing brown eyes quickly looking him up and down. They widened slightly, the only sign she was taken aback by what she saw, that is, until she spoke.

“Damn. Damn it to hell. I was _right_,” she muttered, and he frowned, sighed, and walked closer to her. Her voice was just the slightest bit deeper than it used to be, most women’s voices were as they aged, but it was still undoubtedly _her._

“Hey kid,” he muttered, pulling up the only spare chair in the place, taking a seat on the opposite side of her wheelchair. “Thanks for agreein’ to see me.”

“You didn’t give me much notice,” she said kindly enough, but, still, Logan’s frown deepened as he leaned an elbow on his knee, trying to casually run a hand through his unruly hair and coming off even more nervous. She continued to stare at him for long moments, before she realized she had stared too long, and tried to correct herself. 

“I’m sorry, James. It’s just…”

“I know,” Logan muttered, finally lifting his gaze to stare directly at her. 

“You’re lucky you caught me after blackjack. What took you so long to visit me?” she asked, her tone light and airy, as if he were only a month or two late, instead of fifty eight years. But Evie always played her cards close to her chest, and he knew better. Once more, a guilty feeling settled in his gut.

“Hell, Evie. I’m sorry. It’s been-” he began, until she cut him off.

“Decades. I know _ that,” _she murmured. “I haven’t lost my sanity, James.” At this, he snorted a little, and she smiled.

“You look good, kid,” he said, nodding to her. At this, the old woman rolled her eyes a little, in an exact imitation of a woman sixty years her junior.

“Oh, please, James. I think we’re past that _ act,” _she murmured, and Logan frowned.

“Ain’t no _ act, _Evie. S’the truth. I’ve seen a lotta people be born, live and then die. Ya look better than most of ‘em,” he said, and, when she realized she’d hurt his feelings slightly by accusing him of lying, she offered him an apologetic glance.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m caustic in my old age,” she said with a wave of one wrinkled hand. 

“Now _ that _is a lie. You were always a little spitfire,” he muttered, and she glanced up to him in surprise, as if she hadn’t been offended, or perhaps even teased, in a very, very long time. 

“So, other than insulting me, why are you here, Jamie?” she asked, and the nickname made something deep in his chest quiver, throwing him off his rhythm. In his entire life, he’d allowed Evelyn and Evelyn alone to call him that, if only because the woman was so goddamn stubborn about sticking with the nickname. Jamie. A boy’s name. A way to pull him down to her size, her level. Or, a term of endearment, if nothing else.

“I hate to have sprung it on ya,” he finally grumbled, unsure of where to look, afraid he’d look at something in her room too long, and he’d know too much. “And I know it’s been a long time. _ Too _long. But it wasn’t... all my fault. Why I never...well. Let’s just say I’ve been trying to piece back together a lot of my life from the eighties onward…” 

She narrowed her eyes, but said nothing as she continued to stare at him. Then, remembering what the woman at the front desk had said about the firm, he broke out into a genuine smile and changed the subject.

“You get that law degree?” he asked playfully. And, at that, she grinned, the lines on her face hinting at the spark, a _ Seishin _he’d forgotten, but then had remembered once again.

“Yes,” she said.

“You run your own firm?”

“Yes. Burnstien and Bach. Forty-five years,” she said, a hint of obvious pride in her voice.

“Damn, baby. Well done. I’m assuming the building still has yer name on it?” he asked through another grin.

“What do _ you _ think?” she retorted, and he smiled once more, but then, as he remembered something else the woman had said, his smile fell.

“Burnstein. Yer maiden name,” he murmured through a frown. At this, her smile dwindled, as she rearranged the blanket around her thin shoulders before responding.

“Well... who has time for _ any of that _when you’re running one of the top firms in Manhattan,” she muttered, and Logan’s frown deepened. 

“I’m sorry, kid,” he practically whispered, and she looked up to him sharply.

“_ Don’t,” _ she hissed. “Don’t you _ dare, _after all this time, offer me pity, James. Not after…” she drifted off, and Logan felt his frustration surge.

“What? After _ what, _ Evs? Because...it’s drivin’ me _ insane. _ I lost it all, kid. You know...at least I feel you always gotta sense of who I am. _ What _ I am. So it shouldn’t surprise ya when I tell you they experimented on me. I became the government’s favorite weapon for a while, kid. Decades, wiped. I…” he stopped, staring down for a moment, realizing that these truths, _ these _ truths, he had never admitted out loud, to anyone. “After I escaped, I was lost, baby. Stumblin’ around the forest like _ an animal. _ For years. Until about the time I remembered how to _ fuckin’ read.” _

She simply blinked at him for a moment, a surge of black fire burning in her eyes, always the only outward sign Evelyn Burnstein saw something in the world that was unjust. “I’m sorry to hear that, Jamie. I really am. Can I ask… what they did to you?” 

“I’m gonna spare you those gruesome details, kid,” he muttered, and then he felt her hand, cold and thin and frail, gently grasp his own warm and large and strong one. 

“One night. You cooked for me when I had the flu. It was awful, but I wanted you and your company and your terrible taste in jokes. But you... burned your hand, right...here,” she said, brushing a thumb across where his index finger met his palm. “And-”

“Yeah, I know, kid. I know you saw it,” he muttered. “I knew you knew.”

“How old, James?” she asked quietly. “I...I always wanted to know.” When he said nothing, she gently nudged him by saying his name once more, a name foreign on practically anyone’s lips, except hers. “James?”

“My best guess,” he grumbled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “From the memories returnin’...two hundred, give or take,” he said, glancing down at the ground.

“Jesus_ christ _,” she murmured, and he felt her hand leave his, and something in him darkened. 

“You know,” he muttered running the abandoned hand now along the scruff of his beard, sitting back in his chair a little. “I always wanted to meet yer father. Wanted to tell him I fought in the first world war and the second. That I tore through _ dozens _of camps, killin’ Nazis left and right.”

“And you think that would have made him accept you any more?” she said, a sad smile on her face. At this, Logan laughed, genuinely so. 

“No, I guess not. Just a goddamn pipe dream, I s’pose,” he said through a shake of his head, before glancing at her again. 

“So. Never married. Hopefully some sorry loser to love for a while though? Some good sex with a string of decent men?” he asked raising a brow at her and she snorted. 

“I know what you’re _ really _ asking, Jamie. And I’m not going to boost your ego even more by saying you were my _ best, _ but, well...hmm. Some men got _ close,” _she muttered, and he chuckled despite himself. 

“God damnit, woman. You always knew how to hit me where I live,” he said, and she smiled at him for a moment, before the conversation died again, as a dark cloud, much like the gloomy April weather outside, loomed over them both.

“Things aren’t good out there for you right now, are they, James? For mutants?” she asked quietly.

“No, they ain’t,” he muttered simply.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” she asked, and he lifted his head up to her once more, staring at her in mild confusion. 

“I say that because,” she said thoughtfully, practically reading his mind, “When you knew a law was wrong, or something was unethical, it would bother you or drive you so mad that you would have to do something to try and _ fix _it.”

At this, Logan smiled sadly, and shook his head a little.

“Nah, kid. I wasn’t in the habit of fixin’ things. That was yer gig. Me...I broke ‘em worse than they were before,” he tapered off, and she frowned, but was silent, as if encouraging him to keep at it. Meanwhile, he was already hatin’ where the conversation was headed, but, just like back then, he seemed desperate to talk to her, hangin’ onto every word, no matter what topic was broached.

“I…” he muttered. “Well. For a while..I was helpin’ a rich guy. Before he died, he ran a school. Had this...ideology. Mutants and humans livin’ together in peace. He was tryin’ to help set the world straight. But he died, and then I left. Been gone a long while, long enough that, while I was gone, the world changed.”

“You ran again?” she said suddenly through a slight frown, and Logan felt his defenses once more shooting up around him.

“Evie, I never ran from you,” he hissed leaning forward to look in her eye once more. Something in her own eyes had darkened as she shook her head a little.

“Three months, James. _ Three months _, no word, no contact. Second year of law school,” she said, then stopped, breathing out.

“What happened, Evs? What’d I do? What’d I say?” he asked, desperate for more.

“_ Nothing, _James. We had dinner, and you left,” she murmured, and something in him slumped. Suddenly his thoughts were on Rogue. He had wondered, often, where she was now, especially since he knew the mansion had been overrun. He tried not to think about how he’d let her down, like how he’d let this woman down, like he’d let all women down.

“Why’d you run, Jamie?” Evelyn said under her breath, and Logan stared at her evenly.

“Because…” he murmured. “Because you _ knew, _ kid. You saw right through me. You knew, _ and you didn’t like it.” _

“_ Bullshit,” _she retorted, and he practically snarled at her. 

“I knew, sure. As much as I could know. And I loved you….” she stopped, and sighed. “I loved you more because of it.”

“Never fuckin’ _ said so,” _ Logan retorted, and she shook her head. 

“Neither did _ you,” _she hissed.

“Look,” Logan muttered. “I _ meant it _ with you. I had a ring, alright? I knew yer parents would have burned me at the stake fer askin’ you. And I knew I was likely to outlive ya, kid. That we’d be _ fuckin’ married, _ maybe as old as we are now, and I’d look like how I look now, and you would look how you do. But I was willin’ to give it all up for ya. I was. The life I knew. The past I couldn’t escape. But you _ goddamn told me _ you didn’t want me _ because _of our differences.”

“I was _lying, _Jamie,” she said, a lone tear seeping down her cheek. “And from what I had figured out about what your…._gifts _were, had you been focusing on me, you would have been able to tell. I was terrified of how much I loved you. How much we fought like cats and dogs. How...much it all was. But I was _lying _that night. Out of bloody _fear. _And if you’d stayed long enough to figure that out, well...” she dropped off, catching her breath, a thin hand clutching the side of the wheelchair chair in defeat. 

He said nothing as he looked at her, eyes blinking, senses on fire, trying to read the lie. Trying to sniff out the truth. But the truth was plain as day, written into her every word.

“Fuckin’ _ hell, _ Evs,” he said, once more sitting back in his chair, his hands in fists. But then he was shaking his head, recalling the _ other _thing he had witnessed.

“And a few months after, you know, I came back to check on ya. And yer roommate said you were down at Clancy’s, and there you were hanging off another man’s--no, a _ boy’s-- _ shoulder.”

“I would assume you’d know a shoddy rebound when you see one, sweetie,” she snapped, and he glared at her once more. 

“Goddamnit,” he cursed, immediately standing, pacing the space in front of her, every once in a while stealing a glance out the window, longing for escape. To put himself somewhere else. To _ run. _

_ Jesus christ, she was fuckin’ right. _

“James, calm down,” shesaid sharply, and he practically growled at her, and she raised her voice even more.. 

“James Johnathan Howlett, _ sit _ down. _ Do not _ make an eighty- _ three _ year old woman, who just had a birthday, stand and _ make you,” _she commanded, and that stopped him. He glared at her, took in a deep breath, and then plopped down in his chair once more.

“Seems like your _ maturity _ ages about the same rate _ you _do,” she said, and after a moment’s pause, they both laughed, despite themselves. 

“I still have more questions for you_ ,” _she finally said, and he growled a little, but stayed quiet. Something softened about her as she mentally toiled with her question before asking it.

“Did you ever find love after me? The kind you were so desperate for?” she asked quietly, and he looked up to her sharply. 

“No, kid. I...I thought I had. But...I was wrong. So, no,” he said. 

“That’s the real tragedy, then,” she murmured, and he swallowed, hard. For long moments, no one spoke, until finally he cleared the air.

“Thinkin’ of tracking down some of the old team. See if we can fight back against the work camps,” he muttered, changing the subject.

“Good,” she said, through a sharp nod of her head. “Those ghettos, those _ camps. _It’s Hitler all over again.”

“I know, Evie,” he replied.

“James…” she trailed off, once more sitting up slowly, moving to grasp his hand again, and he let her, running the pad of his thumb along the top of her hand, over protruding veins and wrinkles alike.

“Even if it can’t love you back, _ fight for the things you do love. Fight _ for freedom. _ Fight _for them,” she said, a new fire, that same spark, once more smoldering in her eyes. 

“We won't win, kid,” he murmured. 

“Then _ die _trying,” she whispered, and he simply stared at her for a moment before moving to stand. Silently, he closed the distance between them, gently bending over, his mouth hovering just beyond her ear. 

“I _ did _love you, Evs. And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For fuckin’ it all up,” he muttered, and then his lips grazed the base of her ear where it met her neck, and he kissed her there, where, years ago, he’d routinely nipped her pulse, always apologizing after if he felt he was too rough. 

_ I like it like that, _she would say, through a cheeky grin and a knowing smile. 

As his lips brushed her skin, he felt her clutch his still-warm hand more tightly, before he pulled back just so, and her hand then cradled his face, as he noticed fresh tears in her eyes. 

“Time to leave,” she whispered, even as she ran a light, papery thumb over his bottom lip, so quickly it might not have happened. “And do what I said. Take orders like a good soldier,” she whispered.

“It’s what I do best,” he muttered, before gently kissing the top of her head, along her silver hair, squeezing her hand one final time, before standing once more, nodding, and turning on his heel to leave, too much of a goddamn coward to steal one more glance. 

\---

** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, February 2021_ **

** _At Taj, Libya_ **

“_ Logan! _ ” Storm shouted as she grabbed one of his arms and he whirled around from where he had been running, stopping them dead in their tracks. She shook her head at him slightly, _ not that way, _and Logan snarled, turning this way and that, as his lungs fought the smoke he was inhaling, everything burning, what was left of the mosque engulfed in flames.

The mission had been a failure. A mutant children’s death camp. They had been weeks too late, all of them executed, decaying bodies in the dirt basement of a mosque. The Blackbird’s presence had been immediately detected and targeted. A code red had been issued. They had two minutes, or Charles and Erik would leave without them.

There were tears in Storm’s eyes as she shook her head slightly. _ We’re too late. _Logan snarled, looking this way and that, sniffing the air, feeling like a trapped rat, when his senses gave him three seconds’ notice of more bombs falling. 

_ One: _ instantly, he shoved his full weight into Storm and pressed her against a dirt wall, screaming “hold on to me!” before covering her with his body. 

_ Two, _ his mind counted, as he was staring her directly in the eye, so close to her he could see the details in her brown irises as he tried to willfully communicate the words: _ prepare yourself. Prepare yourself for incredible pain. Maybe death. _

_ Three: _she only had time to give him the slightest of nods, and her face was the last thing he saw as a fiery ball of flames ate its way through the narrow corridor. 

He could hear them both screaming as the flames licked their skin, the sound of a building collapsing through the roar of the explosion, the heat unbearable as his uniform eroded along with the skin of his back. And then the ceiling around them gave, _the basement falling in, _and they both fell to the ground under the debris as he used the rest of his energy to not crush Storm under his _own _weight, sheltering her from the worst of it, stone and mortar and sand falling down around them both like a harsh rain.

_ Let her live, _is all he that he thought as the last of it ended, and he collapsed beside her, consciousness going fuzzy from the pain, and for a few critical seconds, time he couldn’t have back, the world disappeared.

  
  


\--

He realized he was on his back as he hacked and weezed, waking up suddenly. As his vision focused, he realized it was dark, almost pitch black, but even with his good vision he could only see smoke, smoldering ash. He tried to move, tried to use his arms to lift himself off the floor, and realized he couldn’t-_ body still healing, still missing whole muscles, partial biceps, triceps, no skin in places- _when he heard her groan.

_ Storm. _

Again, he struggled to move, and, finally, was able to drag himslef across the floor, snarling at the blinding pain of his body still healing, most of it still fuckin’ useless-_ legs fucked up, would’ve broken both femurs if not for the adamantium- _ as he found the her. Quickly, his eyes assessed his teammate, and he realized he’d blocked most of the debris- _ no blunt-force trauma _ \- but she was burned badly in places. _ Third degree if not worse, _ he realized, her shoulders and upper arms singed a ghostly white and deep red where he hadn’t been able to block the flames, her skin entirely eaten away in places. And hers wasn’t growin’ back any time soon. She’d also lost consciousness again. _ Fuck, fuck, FUCK. _

Once more he tried to sit up, growling through the pain as he succeeded this time, his clumsy and stiff fingers struggling with his utility belt, or what was left of it. _ Thank fuck, _ he thought, fumbling with a booster shot, chalk-full of morphine and antibiotics, and willed his raw hands not to shake as he hovered over to the unconcious woman. _ Heart still beating, slow, but steady. Atta girl, _he thought, as he stabbed the needle in her arm, and then collapsed beside her wearily, breathing out, using the small amounts of energy left to sniff the air, perk his hearing, to make sure they were gone. 

_ Gone. _The sentinels, but also the Blackbird. 

For long moments, he lay there, and he realized, through the debris and smoke, he could see the night sky. The fire had entirely leveled the building then, he thought, as he gazed wearily at a swath of brilliant white stars. They were in the middle of the Sahara desert-_ would need to build a fire soon, gets cold at night-- _in the small village of At Taj, and he guessed, like the mosque, the rest of the town lay in rubble, too.

_ Sirius. Canis major, _his mind thought wearily, the pinpricks of white light gazing down at them both as, once more, he slipped out of consciousness.

\--

Again, he woke, this time confused, even as his muscles now flexed, completely whole. As his eyes focused, he tried to remember the year, tried to remember the place._ 2021, _ his mind sluggishly attempted. _ The...desert. Desert. Dead kids. Decaying kids. Storm...dying? No. No. But injured, badly. Fuck. FUCK. _

Now, he shot up, whipping his head around this way and that, only to find Storm now sitting up against a dirt wall. She was awake, occasionally grimacing, as she ripped off tatters of fabric from her uniform, applying ointment from her utility belt to the wounds, then binding them tight, tears slipping down her cheeks in pain. He blinked at her, amazed by her goddamn _ resilience, _ just as he realized it was warmer around them, despite the lack of a fire, and then he understood why. _ She was fuckin’ contollin’ the temperature. _ She shouldn’t be using her powers at all, as much as it stole her energy. _ Stubborn woman wouldn’t fuckin’ stop for nothing. _

“‘Ro,” he finally coughed, wearily standing, making his way over to her and then kneeling, placing a hand on her own to get her to stop. 

“Let me take care of that,” he said shaikly, and she whipped her head up to him, tears still in her eyes. 

“I can _ do it,” _she hissed, recoiling from his touch, and he snarled, reaching for another vial on his belt. 

“Save it,” she muttered, “I’m _ fine.” _He ignored her, and this time he tapped the needle and aimed directly for a vein. She didn’t fight him, and once he found it, pushing the meds into her system, he could see her eyes drift as the drugs hit her bloodstream. Instantly, the temperature around them dropped to normal as she lost her concentration. She had enough morphine in her now to where he hoped the worst of the pain would be numbed, and then she was staring at him, a world of hurt and confusion etched onto every feature. 

“Th-They…” she began, and he sighed. 

“I know,” Logan muttered. _ The children. _Hundreds of mutilated bodies, executed quickly. They’d been all over the world, never in one place for too long, but he hadn’t seen a sight like that since stumbling on a school house full of corpses during the second world war. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Mutant children, the ones whose mutations manifested early, were considered some of the most dangerous. No wonder they had smuggled ‘em here, in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere. It was illegal to experiment on mutant children. The UN official order was to kill mutant children on sight, not keep ‘em alive, for however long. 

For years now, the unending, useless fight. With every month that passed, the more hopeless it all became. This mission had been sloppily planned, only a couple of days’ worth to prepare; most missions, if they even happened anymore, were like this, and they had paid for their carelessness. They’d lost contact with the Blackbird, in the middle ofthe goddamn desert, with a wounded soldier, who’d likely need fuckin’ skin grafts to heal. He only hoped Charles would come back for them, because they were grounded without the bird. 

Slowly, Storm breathed in and out as he finished the job, both of them silent as he carefully applied the ointment, tearing off strips of her uniform to cover the worst of the burns, as occasionally she winced and cried out in pain. After it was over, she began to shiver, and he lay her against a wall before collecting scraps of wood from the fallout to start a fire. It was small, but the basement blocked the worst of the harsh wind, which he was fuckin’ grateful for.

He sighed then, sitting across the fire from her, and Storm winced at the sight of flames as she stared at him across the dancing light. 

“Charles will come back for us,” she finally murmured, eyes heavy as the orange haze cast shadows on the far wall. 

“Gotta come up with some sort of fuckin’ plan if he doesn’t, ‘Ro,” Logan muttered, a shaking, weary hand running through his freshly grown-in hair. His scalp itched, his _ skin _itched. It always did after he fuckin’ seared it off his body and grew it back. Like it wasn’t entirely his yet, like it was settling onto him still. 

Meanwhile, Storm ignored his comment, staring off into the dark surrounding Logan.

“You know…” Storm barely murmured, voice weighty under the dulling of the drugs. “I used to...I used to be terrified of basements,” she finished with a bitter laugh. 

At this, Logan looked up to her sharply. For six years, he’d been her teammate, her co-lead on most missions. He and Storm knew each other better than he had ever known most people. And, for over half that time, they had spent prolonged periods underground. Never had he heard her admit to this, except for maybe… early on, when he was torn up about Rogue..._ . I know a panic attack when I see one. And I get it, ok? You think I like it down there? It’s ok that you’re not ok, for now, but I need to know you’re gonna pull through this...eventually. _

As she took in his expression, a sad smile played on her features, as she folded more into herself.

“Don’t look so...shocked. It was, well, any narrow, confined space, really…” she drifted off.

“Claustrophobic?” he asked carefully. Routinely, he had been secretly checking her heart rate, her pulse, trying to get a read on her temperature. Even with the drugs, she could spike a fever, pick up a deadly infection. They needed to be someplace sterile. They needed a fuckin’ doctor, or a healer. They needed out of this place. 

Meanwhile, Storm nodded. 

“Parents...you know. Killed during an airstrike. I was _ six. _ Buried under…” she drifted off, and then, more tears. “ _ Sharp and violent _ways my breath would just...leave me. I couldn’t breathe in tight spaces, felt like..I was dying…” she muttered, and then he could tell the drugs were workin’ on her, toyin’ with her fears, her emotions. Sensing her need, Logan growled, slowly standing, once more walked over to her and sinking down next to her against the dirt wall.

“S’alright, ‘Roro,” he muttered, as his rough palm ran through her cropped white hair at the base of her neck and he looked her in the eye. She began crying then, even as she lay her head on his shoulder. Again, he sighed, as he put his arms around her and held her, tightly. “Calm down,” he heard himself murmur.

“I can’t die here,” she finally whispered, without looking at him. “Not so _ close _to Egypt, not without being there.”

“Hey,” Logan snarled, inching away from her slightly to force her to look at him. “No one’s _ dyin’ _ . Understand me? S’just the drugs _ talkin. _Charles’ll come back for us, like you said, and you’ll live to see another goddamn miserable day of this fuckin’ war, alright?” he growled, and she simply smiled a ghostly smile at him that put him off, irked him. 

“_ What?” _he muttered through a frown.

“Logan. Always _ alive. _ Always _ strong. _Always...watching us all perish around you,” she whispered, and, despite his standoffishness, he simply clutched her tighter to his chest. 

“S’enough of that kinda talk,” he muttered. “And, anyway, it’s not you who’s perishin’, ‘Ro. It’s never _ you.” _

He could feel her frown from where she lay her head, but no one spoke now, for a long while. She seemed to drift in and out of sleep, but his mind was racing. Their comms were off-line, but Charles could track them with the Cerebro that was on the bird. If they weren’t back in 48 hours, which was always the re-extraction deadline, because that’s all the provisions they carried on them, then Logan would figure out somethin’ else. But Storm couldn’t be moved yet, that was for fuckin’ certain. There was nothin’ but scorching desert out there for hundreds of miles, and even if she could control the climate, she couldn't _ forever. _

As she clutched his arm tighter, he swallowed, hard. He usually never let himself get this close to her. They weren’t like that, never had been, had always maintained that professional boundary. Good friends, better colleagues, but never lovers. It wasn’t that she wasn’t beautiful-_ because she was fuckin’ goregeous- _ it simply was...that he wouldn’t do that to her. No matter what he himself sometimes thought, no matter what other people thought, he wasn’t a goddamn animal, and he didn’t need his hands on every woman he could find. But...it had been a long time. _ A long damn _ time, since he’d been this intimate with anyone. It wasn’t even about the fuckin’ _ sex; _it was the rest of it. The feeling of a head lying on his chest, movin’ up and down with his breath. How soft her hair was, how his body could envelop another. It was about bein’ close, and wishin’ to never be apart again. 

Suddenly, a flash of Rogue’s smile, which he immediately shut down in his mind. 

_ Not today, kid. You ain’t tormentin’ me today. _

He sighed heavily, breathing out, as he checked in on Storm’s heart beat once more. Finding it a little unsteady, he moved her closer to him, running gentle patterns on her back, trying to sooth her to sleep again, and he frowned when it had the opposite effect and she was giggling to herself. _ High as a kite, _he thought through a frown.

“What?” he managed to grumble, and she looked up to him, a devilish spark in her eye.

“I’ve tried...sometimes. In weird moments...not in any sort of _deliberate way, _but...just to imagine what _you’d _be like...you know, as gentle. As an intimate creature, if only because...well. I couldn’t picture it. Now I know,” she smiled, and he snorted in response.

“Come on, now,” he muttered, unsure of _ what _to say, and she laughed a little again.

“I _ mean _ it,” she whispered. “It’s...actually kind of nice. To know you _ are _capable of... gentle. I kinda see how Rogue fell for you…” she trailed off, and he immediately frowned, but let the comment go. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, but didn’t pull away from her, and, instead, muttered, “Don’t get used to it, soldier,” before kissing the top of her head amidst her short, white hair. She laughed a little more, and then sighed, leaning into him more, and he knew she needed him, needed _ someone, _and, for fuck’s sake, he was gonna be what she needed, for as long as she needed it. 

For a long while, no one spoke again, and he thought she had drifted off, until she murmured something under her breath. “_ Al Taj,” _she said, and he simply listened. “It means “crown” in Arabic. This place...was a holy site,” she said. 

“I remember...they used it in the wars. At least in the second,” he said, and she only nodded. More silence, and then he couldn't help but grin to himself. 

“You know I don’t believe in all that religious stuff, ‘Ro, but… if this place is holy, it’s only because it’s graced by a weather goddess,” he muttered, squeezing her hand, and he felt her smile, before once more falling off into a fitful sleep.

  
  


\---

After an hour or so, sleep also overtook him. It always did when he had to heal like that, most of his energy fuckin’ drained from the process. It was distrubed, uneven sleep though. Most of the dreams disparate and faint, until they warped into something clearer, something akin to another fuckin’ memory. Alternative rock. Fake, plastic planets hanging from the ceiling. Balloons. A gymnasium, darkened, playing… Matchbox Twenty? 

_ Logan sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the stacked up gym bleachers, watching a bunch of awkward kids travel the floor in packs, boys with boys, girls with girls, while “If You’re Gone” played over head on the loudspeakers. No one was dancin’ with anybody, and, once again, he thought this was a terrible idea. _

_ “I can’t believe you roped me into this,” he growled to Storm, who was currently serving punch, while she rolled her eyes at Logan. _

_ “Listen, you’re about to go off to find answers in Canada? Fine. But you can see a few of the kids off before you go, and we needed an extra chaperone. Try to have a little _ fun,” _ she muttered, and he grumbled something noncommittal. It had been two weeks since the torch, and he was itchin’ to get out of here. He’d been awkward around the girl especially, and the last thing he needed was some kid clingin’ to him, watchin’ his every move like she was. She was only seventeen for fuck’s sake, and from what he understood about what the professor said about her powers, he didn’t want to even begin to know what she’d picked up. As he glanced out at the gym though, the music replaced by some insufferable boy band slow song, he couldn’t find her. Made sense, too, since her skin was a factor. Still though, he was leavin’ in the morning, and he thought...well. Maybe not. Didn't smell her anywhere, either. _

_ Quickly, his eyes shot over to Jean. She was currently in a short, red dress, talking to Scott animatedly, punch in hand. Something deep in his chest convulsed--he hated seein’ her with that dickweed--and he snarled, pulling his glance away, now in an even worse fuckin’ mood as the song switched to “Kryptonite,” and he snarled. _

_ “Gonna go get some air,” he growled to Storm, shoving past the punch table, through the throngs of kids, and whipped open the door, only to be greeted by the kid, Rogue. She was adorned in a midnight blue dress, sleeveless, he noted, but also long, dark gloves, her hair was curled, like she took time with it. She looked, well, older. He simply blinked at her, dumbfounded, as she smiled shyly. _

_ “Oh, hi, Logan,” she murmured quietly, looking down at the floor, wringing her hands. “Already leaving?” she asked, finally her eyes glancing up to him sharply. Then there it was, the scent of _ him _ on her. Had been there since the torch, and the way she was actin’...just the slightest bit...off. Like she knew more. Like she knew…. _

_ “No, kid. Just, uh, gettin’ some air. Boys puttin’ on too much damn cologne,” he said, and she blushed again, obviously expecting more of an answer. _

_ “I’ll see ya in there kid. Go...uh...enjoy yerself,” he muttered, and she smiled, and he realized he was blocking the entrance to the gym and quickly moved to the side, as she politely scooted past him. He watched her go toward a few friends who waved to her, including the little firecracker he had met last week...what was her name? Jubilee. Yeah. He smiled after Rogue, until he realized he was supposed to be in a bad mood, and he walked down the long hall, intent on the veranda. Maybe he would stick with his story and actually _ get _ some fresh air. As soon as he was out of the double doors, it was, of course, relieving, and even though the sun long since had set, he still stood out there for long moments, arms crossed. _

_ His bike was packed. He had a full bottle of whiskey in his coat pocket. He could leave now, if he wanted. Stop obsessin’ over the woman he couldn’t have. Stop worryin’ about the kid and if he’d scarred her fer good. Get back to the life he’d _ known _ , not as a fuckin’ superhero, but as a man on the move, a man who only had ta look out for himself. He sighed, taking a nip of the whiskey, and then quickly lit a cigar, sucking in the rich tobacco. He didn’t know how long he was out there like that...but when he stomped out the butt of the cigar with a boot, thoughts on whether to stay or leave still swirling, he heard her, a bit tearful from the sound of it, as suddenly she burst out the doors and on to the veranda, mascara runnin’, and when she laid eyes on him, she looked horrified. _

_ “Oh! Shitfire,” she cursed. “Sorry, Logan. I forgot-” _

_ “S’alright, kid,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets, if only to do somethin’ with ‘em. “You ok?” _

_ “Yeah,” she muttered, wiping her face quickly before crossing her thin arms and shivering in the autumn weather. “Just...a lot in there.” _

_ Somethin’ about the way she said it, or the way she looked at him, had him guessin’ at the truth. _ Jesus fuck. _ So she had picked up some of his senses, like he might’ve thought. _

_ “I think...I’m ta blame for that. No one deserves to listen to Backstreet Men or whatever with heightened hearin’,” he muttered, and, at that, she truly did smile. _

_ “It’s Backstreet _ Boys _ ,” she corrected, now walking a little further out onto the veranda, although she was sure to keep an almost animalistic distance from him. _

_ “Sounds about right,” he muttered, grasping for the bottle of whiskey in his jacket pocket, and drinking from it again. She seemed moderately surprised by this, offering him a tilt of the head. _

_ “Storm would kill you if she knew you snuck alcohol into the dance,” she murmured, and he snorted. _

_ “Kid, four other brats in there _ at least _ are already drunk,” he muttered. “And trust me, I ain’t sharin,” he said, and, surprisingly, she blushed. _

_ “Oh, well. I don’t drink. Neither does Jubilee, or Bobby,” she murmured, and Logan grinned, despite himself. _

_ “Plenty of time for that later,” he murmured, setting the pint down on the edge of the veranda and leaning beside it. Meanwhile, she shivered again, and he sighed. _

_ “Why don’t you get on back inside and go dance some more?” he asked her, but she shook her head. _

_ “I haven’t _ started _ dancing. _ No one has. _ All the boys are just standing there. And the music was just _ so loud, _ and Jubes is being pushy and-” she said, before realizing who she was talking too, and immediately shut up. At this, Logan chuckled a little. _

_ “So noone’s dancin’ with ya, eh? Can ya blame them for bein’ nervous?” he asked, and her smile fell, and then he instantly realized his mistake. She thought he was talkin’ about her skin, when he’d really been referring to how pretty she looked tonight. _

_ “Fuck, kid. I didn’t mean-” he began, but she shook her head with a quiet sigh. _

_ “It’s alright. It’s true,” and something in her chin quivered again. “They’re...scared of me,” she drifted off. _

_ “Maybe that’s alright,” he grumbled, and she looked at him with that look again, like she knew him. Then, once more, she shivered. _

_ “Yer killin’ me. Here,” he muttered, sloughing off his leather jacket and plopping it on her thin shoulders before she could protest. She looked at him, mildly shocked, but nestled into the warmth of the jacket all the same. _

_ “Thank you,” she murmured. _

_ “Don’t mention it,” he said, awkwardly, before nodding upward. _

_ "Stars are out," he said, and she looked at him partially confused, until she looked up. _

_"They're nice, I guess," she murmured. "Do you know any of them? The constellations?"_

_He looked back down to her, and frowned. Did he? He couldn't be sure. But as he stared at the swath of sky, no familiar patterns, no familiar names, came to him. "Nah, kid," he finally responded. _

_ For a few moments, no one spoke, until she said his name, barely under her breath. _

_ “Hey Logan?” she asked. _

_ “Yeah?” he responded, turning away from the line of pine trees beyond, lookin’ at the teenager once more. _

_ “You’re leaving tomorrow, right?” _

_ Somethin’ in his chest tightened then. She looked at him with all the longin’ in the world, as if she was tryin’ to will any other scenario to come to pass. He knew it was likely due to their connection, the way he’d saved her and now was a fuckin’ hero in her eyes, but it was too hard to explain to someone so young just why he hadta leave. Just what he was after. _

_ “Yeah,” he finally muttered, all he offered in way of a response. _

_ He watched as she bit her lip in deep thought, before she carefully added, “Then...I wanted to ask you something.” _

_ “‘Course. What is it?” he asked, before taking a heavy drink from the liquor bottle once more. _

_ “The...woman in the pink dress. The one you walked home from a bar?” she said, so quietly he had to use his gifted hearing to pick it up. His mind was already racin’ trying to think of all the times he drunkenly stumbled out of bars, most of them _ with _ women. Somethin’ in him was fuckin’ distrubed at the thought of _ her _ seein’ any of that… _

_ “Listen, kid, if you saw some stuff you didn’t wanna see, like, uh, grown up stuff, adult stuff, I”m sorry-” he began, but she cut him off. _

_ “No! _ NO. _ Not like _ that _ …Well, I _ did _ see some of that stuff. But not this,” she was a deep shade of crimson now, half-hiding her face in the leather of his coat, as Logan ran a hand over his face in mild horror. “I meant… you just walked her home. She had a pink dress on. She said...she was Jewish? You might’ve..dated her. It looked like...I dunno. Maybe the fifties? I just...wanted to know her name.” _

_ Logan simply blinked at her, unable to call a single memory of sleepin’ with a Jewish woman, let alone _ dating _ one. _

_ “Sorry. I got nothing for ya. You said the _ fifties _ ?” he asked carefully, through narrow eyes. _

_ “Yeah,” she blinked. “There was a jukebox with records and everything.” _

_ “Fuck,” he muttered, drinking from the bottle again, and she realized she’d spooked him. _

_ “Sorry," she apologized, and then sighed, slinking off his jacket and handing it back to him. _

_ “Thanks,” she said, nodding her head. _

_ “Goin’ back in?” he asked. _

_ “Yeah. It’s my first real dance, even if I hate it. And Jubes will kill me if I don’t. She’s ‘on the hunt’ tonight, whatever that means,” she said meekly, rolling her eyes as Logan snubbed out his cigar and sloughed on the jacket once more, sliding the pint of whiskey back into one pocket. _

_ “I’ll walk ya back in there,” he muttered. _

_ “You don’t have to,” she said. _

_ “Marie. It’s yer first dance. I wanna,” he murmured, and she was blushing once more at the use of her name, even as he opened the door for her, the clink of her midnight blue heels echoing down the wooden floorboards of the hall as he followed silently behind. _

_ From the gym, the music was blasting, “ _ Tell me why, ain’t nothin’ but a missstakkkee! I nevverrr wanna heearrr you ssayyy, I wannntt itt thattt wayyyyy! _ ” and thankfully, to Logan’s amusement, Rogue scrunched her nose in distaste. _

_ “Sorry,” he muttered, staring at the door to the gym like it was the mouth of the beast, suddenly feelin’ real bad she had to ride this night out. _

_ “Walk me back in there at least?” she asked, and he grinned, nodding. _

_ “Sure. From everythin’ that’s happened, it’s the least I can do, he said, and he offered her his arm sarcastically, and she laughed a little nervously as she took it, both of them bracing for the blasting impact of the synthetic sounds of early 2000’s pop music. _

  
  


_ \--- _

He awoke suddenly, and, instantly, he sensed them. The sun was blinding, the basement of the destroyed mosque thick with heat, the smells of decaying bodies and the buzzing of flies ringing in his ears. He could feel Storm’s weight still on him, and he remained stone still, as he picked up on more voices. They were speaking Arabic, and Logan knew just enough of it to know they were in danger. 

“_ Masah almuhaytu. Aljihaz hu ailtiqat athnyn min almusukh , ealaa qayd alhayati. Yuqal bed min aleashir lilrajal _ ,” the soldier said. _ Scan the perimeter. The device is picking up two mutants, alive. Reportedly some of the X-Men. _

He only had to squeeze Storm’s hand a little, and she was awake, sucking in a pained breath. The morphine had to have worn off by now, and her skin was radiating heat that had nothing to do with the sun. _ Fever, over 103. Fuck. _ She looked at him, even through the sickness, a fear in her eyes as he gave her a look of warning. She knew to trust what he sensed, and she knew his silent tells. _ Stay alert. We’re being hunted. _

_ “Awamir bieadam alqatl. Alsaaeiqat watahtawi ealaa alyaqat almane _ ,” another voice said. _ Orders not to kill. Stun and contain with inhibitor collars. _

Logan slowly rose, using the wall they were leaning on to hide himself in the shadows, and sniffed the air again. _ Fuck, fuck, FUCK. _ They were descending into the basement via a mechanical ramp. They had tracking devices then, designed to sniff out mutants from miles away. _ At least they didn’t have fuckin’ Sentinels with ‘em, _he thought.

Quickly, he darted behind a stone column, still in sight of Storm. He gave her a reassuring look as she still lay huddled in the dirt, fear in her eyes. The soldiers were in the basement now, feet away, about to turn the corner…

Logan lunged from the spot he’d been hiding shoving his claws into the chest of a Lybian soldier. He screamed, and then there was gunfire, and he snarled, whirled around, only to see that had ambushed them both from the other hall, too, and a guard had Storm by her injured arm, pulling her up like a rag doll as he slapped a collar on the back of her neck, and Logan growled loudly, as a guard held a gun to her head.

“_ Laday 'awamir bieadam alqutl. la tajealuni 'asheur 'anani mithl taghyir altawjihi _ ,” the leader shouted, before spitting on the ground next to Storm’s feet. _ I have orders not to kill. Don’t make me feel like changing my directive. _

And then, he felt it, the cold steel insert in his spine, something he hadn’t felt in years, while another gun was pointed at his temple, the echo of barrel sounding in his ear. Right then, something in him knew to withdraw the claws, even as Storm looked at him wildly in confusion. 

“_ Min alsahl tarwid alwahsh _ ,” the man taunted. _ Easy to tame the beast. _Then, the leader was dragging Storm, who screamed in pain, forward, while handcuffs were placed on Logan. Meanwhile, he gave Storm only the slightest of nods, as he felt the inhibitor collar drain his energy, make him feel the exhaustion of the past few days, and then, a guard was knocking him up the side the head for good measure, and his brain rang in his metal skull, the pain uncanny as he felt hot blood seep from his nose. 

“_ Arzr! Walafayrin alshahira! Alan, ynzf _ !” one of them shouted, and several of them laughed. _ Behold! The famous Wolverine! Now, he bleeds! _

“I’ve always _ bled _ , you stupid motherfucker-” Logan began, and then, another blow to the gut. A steel-toed boot stomping the back of his calf, the crisp _ snap _ of tendons loud in his ears, even as his tibula and fibula held. Instantly, in his mind he was back in Two Rivers, the last and only other time they had gotten a collar on him…

_ The pain cracking and sizzling, his vision fading as the knife was lodged in his chest. Rogue’s face completely, absolutely blank, as she made her decision, gave up her life...for him. For the fuckin’ asshole who’d left her, over and over again, fleein’ to Canda, runnin’ scared. Only a few weeks of gettin’ to know each other again, a few fleeting moments together that were deeper, and she was givin’ up her precious life for his sorry excuse for one…. _

Another blow to the head, all of them gettin’ in on the fun now, as Storm screamed for them to stop. He spat blood and what might’ve been a molar out of his mouth, an eye going black and his vision disappearing to his right, and he gave Storm only the slightest shakes of his head. _ This had to be believable. They had to think he wasn’t a threat, and he needed her to be clear of most of the gunfire, _he thought, as he tried to stay conscious. 

“_ Anqataea! Sawf yaqtuluh _ !” the man who had Storm’s arm said, scowling at the others as her jerked Storm forward. _ Cease! You’ll kill him! _

“_ Alhusul ealaa alhayawan yasilu, yamshi lah munhadar 'iilaa alshshahina,” _ he commanded. _ Get the animal up, walk him up the ramp back to the truck. _ Then, Storm and the leader both disappeared, stalking back toward the idling truck he heard above them. It was then that Logan smirked, realizing, despite bein’ stranded in the Sahara desert, with an injured teammate, on the losing side in a war for the fight for mutant kind, he had all the luck in the world. They had just moved Storm out of harm’s way, out of range of gunfire, and, as they did, another voice from another woman he had loved like hell whispered in his ear, “ _ Then _ die _ trying.” _

Just as one soldier dragged him to his feet by the cuffs, Logan grinned savagely.

“Hey, bub. You wanna know a secret?” he muttered in English through a bloody, feral smile.

The man only stared at him, confused, shooting a look to his comrade.

“Just 'cause they're a result of a genetic mutation, doesn't mean claws are a fuckin’ superpower,” he snarled, and then adamantium tore through his fists, and the cuffs fell off him like ribbons as he stabbed the man in the heart. Gunfire reigned down on him, but he was too quick, too exacting, as he shoved the claws into heart and brain and spine, taking hits, but not feeling them, as he carved his way through all eleven men. He heard Storm shout, and he ran, limping as he did so, toward the idling truck, desperate to get there in time, until Logan noticed she’d somehow apprehended the leader, knocked him over the head with his own gun, and then had shot him in the fucking face. 

“Took you long enough,” she breathed hard, leaning against the side of the vehicle. Then, though, she frowned, staring at his bullet-addled body as he stumbled a bit, whipping a hand out toward the truck for support, but then sank down to his knees. _Over twenty times, _he thought dazedly. Over twenty times he’d been shot, mostly in the torso, some in the head, all at close range, and the only reason he wasn’t already dead was because of the goddamn adamantium skull.

“_Logan!” _Storm muttered, stumbling over to him, getting close to the collar. 

“Pull the damn thing off,” he murmured to her.

“But...the poison,” she started, but he only shook his head at her.

“I have this theory, ‘Ro. Somethin’ I’ve been toilin’ over and over in my head for a long time now. Years,” his words came more slowly, as internal bleeding tan rampant and a stuttering heartbeat began to slow. 

“See...I have this theory….that someone lost their life, all those years ago, in vain,” he managed, as Storm hesitated near the device, then he was reaching his own bloody hand around before she could stop him, quickly yanking if off his neck. He winced, and then he could feel the poison in him, pumping through his veins- _ Is this what it felt like? Is this what it felt like for you, baby? When you were outta time?-- _ and then, his body, his goddamn hyperactive, manic white blood cells were fighting back the poison. His own physiology, the only antidote.

Still though, his vision in and out of focus….

“Storm….gotta...gotta get to Charles…” he said, and she was crying, and he was trying to reassure her, tell it was fuckin’ _ working, because it was, _ and god, _ god, she died in vain. She died in vain… _

“‘Ro…” he managed, while he heard her screaming through sobs, “Hold on, Logan!!” 

And then, black.

  
  
  


\--

Everything fuckin’ hurt. It was the first thing he realized as his vision came into focus. He sniffed the room, only to be greeted with the sterility of the jet. He was in one of the converted spaces that acted as his living quarters, on his bed, flat on his back. He breathed in, and then shot up suddenly, whipping his head around, to be greeted by Charles, sitting calmly in his chair, studying the older man. 

Logan must’ve looked confused, because then Charles was clarifying. 

_ It’s 2021, my friend. We’re on the jet, headed to a safehouse in Mongolia, _Charles offered him before Logan could ask. 

“Storm-” Logan croaked, and the Professor faintly smiled. 

“Fine, Logan. We have been able to obtain some cellular generation injections for her, courtesy of your successful raid of medical supplies in Boston a few months back, and she will heal. I was also able to remove the collar from her neck, although it was no easy telekinetic feat,” he said, but Logan’s eyes still shot toward Storm’s room across the narrow hall where the door was only partially closed.

“She is sedated. The biological process she is going through can be painful, and we thought it best for her to sleep through it. You can see her a few hours,” Charles clarified, and then a woozy feeling overtook him again, a rare wave of nausea accompanying it. 

“Jesus _ fuckin’ _Christ, Chuck. Feels I got hit by a fuckin’ semi,” Logan snarled.

“It was miraculous, Logan, that your body was able to fight such a strong toxin. I’m not sure all healing factors would have been able to overcome its effects. Although, next time, I’d rather you not gamble with your life like that,” Charles said curtly, and Logan only frowned, thinking of the events that had transpired. 

“Yeah, well. I know I’m usually a sure thing when it comes to livin'. But don’t forget you gamble with Storm’s life every time you send her out in the field, Charles,” he growled, and the younger man frowned.

“You’re right, of course,” he murmured and sat back in his chair, hands together, as a prolonged silence overtook both of them. Something about it irked Logan, as the memories of the rest of the last couple of days became known to him. He needed time alone. He needed whiskey. He needed to check on Storm. What he _ didn’t _need was a lecture from the old man right now, of all fuckin’ times.

“I know what plagues you, Logan,” Charles still said, even though Logan had thought he was projectin’ loud and clear. 

“_ Don’t,” _he hissed, but Xavier pressed on. 

“Because you survived the removal of the inhibitor collar, because you yourself could have taken off yours and saved you both, you think that her sacrifice was in vain, but you are wrong,” Charles said simply, but Logan was already shaking his head bitterly.

“No reason. No _ fuckin’ _reason,” he rambled under his breath, his anger spiking once more, as he restrained himself from the strong urge to grab fistfuls of his hair in anger as this realization settled within him. 

“Logan, I hate to chastize you, but you are only thinking of yourself as you come to this realization. Remember, Rogue absorbed the memories of the man who designed Two Rivers. If Rogue hadn’t pulled her own collar off herself to regain her powers and absorb the scientist, she would have not known the codes to unlock the medbay that contained the remaining three children at Two Rivers you both helped to rescue,” Charles explain clearly, as Logan’s mind struggled to catch up, but then, a memory of North Point in smoky ruin, broken bodies everywhere, filled his mind, and Logan shook his head once more.

“And then dead two years later anyway.” Logan’s tone was acrimonious now, as he clenched his fists, his claws itching under the joints and ligaments, everything in his hands crowded and painful, while the animal paced dangerously to the surface as more self-hatred flooded him. Charles held firm, though, and continued on.

“But weren’t those two years of relative peace reunited with their parents worth experiencing? Those children had the privilege to experience joy and happiness and love for two whole years before their demise, all because of Rogue’s efforts,” he murmured. “Even if you had survived the collar’s poision, that was only possible because she sacraficed herself and offered up her gifts to help free them,” he said quietly, and as Logan looked up, he could feel the fuckin’ hot tears in his eyes, and he cursed under his breath, quickly running both rough hands over his face, before brining one solid fist down beside him on the bed, saying nothing.

It was only then, that Charles frowned deeply.

“You still do not feel it was worth it,” Charles murmured. “Her life...meant more.”

Logan only looked up at the Professor, the man he had poured all his trust into, the man who he had followed, blindly at times, for the last six fuckin’ years, and said nothing. 

“I have asked too much of you,” Charles said simply, and Logan finally sighed as he tried to fuckin’ collect himself.

“No, Chuck. That ain’t it. I-”

“I _ have, _my friend,” Charles interrupted. “I have...taken advantage of you...in ways you will most likely never understand, but, I need you to know, you’re done repenting.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Charles, trying to figure out what the hell he was gettin’ at.

“Reprentin’ for what?” Logan asked carefully.

“The reason you’re here…” Charles nodded at him, as Logan caught on to what Charles was insinuating.

“You think I’m here outta guilt? For what? For killin’ Jean? For runnin’ scared afterward?”

“I know you are, Logan. The disappearing, the inability to keep certain promises...to loved ones,” Charles clarified. “And I refuse to take advantage of your guilt any longer.” At this, despite himself, Logan only bitterly shook his head through an odd, off-putting smile.

“If yer tryin’ to get rid of me, Charles-” Logan began, and he was relieved to see the Professor carefully return the smile. 

“Of course not,” Xavier clarified. “You’ve proven yourself invaluable to the X-Men, to me, to mutant kind _ hundreds if not thousands of times _ over. But I need you to understand, you are not beholden to us, or to _ her, _any longer.”

Logan simply stared at him for a few moments, blinking at the younger man, as images raced through his mind. Women, mostly. Clara and the look of blame on her face, Evelyn and the curious spark in her eye, always trying to figure him out, Jean and look she gave him when she dared him to misbehave, to push her into wanting him, and...Rogue. Who had simply _ seen _him. Who had loved him, even though… 

“Sorry, Charles,” he managed to say, now wearily standing, running a hand through his hair. “But you don’t get to decide that for me,” he managed. “So do you want an official debrief or what?” he asked, hopefully projecting that he wanted the conversation to come to an end, and Charles simply frowned for a moment, but then shook his head quietly.

“No, I don’t think that’s necessarily, my friend,” Charles said, and Logan nodded before leaving the room, stalking up to the front of the jet to get a read out of the Bird’s coordinates, offering a simple “Mags” to Erik, who looked at him with a still mild disgust, before stalking back to the living quarters, snagging a cup of coffee from the burner. Lukewarm, but drinkable. 

Slowly, then, he pushed open the door to Storm’s tiny living quarters, ignoring Charles’ wishes to wait to see her. He sighed as he slumped in the steel metal chair next to the small desk flush with her bed, glancing at all of her notes, ideas for missions, paraphrased debriefs, lists for provisions, all dutifully clipped with a metal fastener to the desk so they wouldn’t fly off during take off and landing. He frowned as he looked at them, before stealing a closer glance at the woman, and he sighed in relief to see her in one decent piece. She was properly bandaged now, but he could tell her skin was growin’ back. No fever, either. He found himself smiling then at Storm’s toughness, and after some time, he realized he’d open his mouth to talk to her, if only because...well, she was the only one left he could be completely honest _ with. _

“You...shot that fucker in the goddamn _ face,” _Logan laughed a little, recalling what he had little time or energy to comment on at the time. “I got to hand it to you, ‘Roro. Yer aim is better than it used ta be,” he said, but as he glanced at her serene features, something in his smile fell, and he set his mug down on her desk before quietly taking a hold of her thin hand. 

“Not sure what we’re doin’ anymore, ‘Ro,” Logan muttered to the floor, shaking his head slightly. “You told me once, after North Point, you had fooled yerself. Fooled yerself into thinkin’ we could have _ lives _ still….that we could...I don’t know. _ Maintain _our humanity or somethin’ somehow...” Logan drifted off, unsure of what he was saying, of what it all meant, but he kept going. 

“And, cynic that I am, I thought you were crazy to think that...but…” he stopped, breathing out heavily, before stubbornly continuing on. “But... I think a tiny part of me, ‘Ro, was hoping for it. Deep down. I think I was hopin’ we could...just...go back. To how it was. In the mansion, teachin’…” he muttered, stopping for a moment as he thought of a younger Rogue, the one in the pretty midnight blue dress, the one he had made promises to he hadn’t been able to keep. 

_ Ok, so, what do ya say? Give these geeks one more shot? C’mon, I’ll take care of you. _

_ You promise? _

_ Yeah. Yeah, I promise. _

_ Another life, sugar, a better one. _

Logan closed his eyes indignantly, shaking his head as he did so, but kept talkin’. 

“I ain’t suicidal, sweetheart,” he murmured. “But... I think I was hopin’ that poison would fuckin’ end me. That I was _ wrong _about it all. That…” he stopped, right then and there, knowing full-well Charles was probably listenin’ in. He glanced once more around Storm’s room, and he realized it looked like he was fuckin’ praying to the woman, whispering a stream of inane confessions in her ear, all at thirty thousand feet in the air. Finally, he sighed, shaking his head slightly as he squeezed her hand tighter. 

“Just... if I don’t get to die, you don’t get to die, alright? In fact, don’t you ever get that fuckin’ close again. Don’t you _ dare _ leave me alone in this... fuckin’ _ wasteland _ ,” he ordered the sleeping woman, taking a moment to brush a lock of her white hair off her forehead, before finaly sitting back with his coffee, studying her, intending to stay awake and by her side until she woke once more, to intend that she was _ real _ and _ alive _ and _ there, _done with prayin’ to false idols, done listenin’ out for the whispers of ghosts. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @bluefrogsbestfrogs for editing this monster, and thank you to everyone who continues to show love and support for these characters. <3


	5. Chapter 4: To Gain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning. This chapter is extremely long. However, with the coronavirus having us all on lockdown, it felt appropriate to publish now. It is possible to digest it in one sitting, but you might put on a pair of your favorite comfy socks first and curl up with a cup of tea. Thank you!

**Chapter 4: ** ** _To Gain_ **

** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, May 2001_ **

** _Westchester, New York_ **

_ “Jimmy, come back to bed,” the woman whined, naked as she lay sprawled out across the mussed sheets, a cigarette in one hand and a mostly-empty glass in the other. The air smelled like sex, booze, old takeout food. He growled from where he stood, preparing a line on a brass tray at the tiny hotel table. This stuff, the stuff her father dealt, was the good stuff. The pure stuff. Blow that was hard to come by. Blow that made him feel something for a goddamn minute. Sometimes, maybe even a handful of ‘em. _

_ “One second, babe,” he snarled, bending over and leveling the table with the dollar bill he was usin’. A snort up the nose, a burning in his lungs, and then he was polishing off the bottle of liquor, stalking back over to the woman on the bed. Instantly, the high pushing through his veins. A few goddamn minutes of levity. _

_ “You just can’t get enough of anything tonight, can ya?” she asked through a white grin, setting down her glass as he hovered over her, moving down to kiss her neck.  _

_ “Ain’t that always the way with me?” he asked through a smirk, but her hands were already snaking down his naked torso, and he growled. _

_ “I’m gonna fuck you until morning, baby,” he snarled into her ear, hand roughly cupping a breast before taking a nipple into his mouth. _

_ “You better, if you wanna keep this gig,” she teased, and he snarled, before dipping a hand lower, between her legs.  _

_ “Spendin’ yer father’s money? Fucking his daughter right under his goddamn nose?” he grinned. One finger inside her. Two. She was wet, warm, ready again. _

_ “Yeah, sure. Long as you keep your promise,” she said through a breath as he rolled a thumb over her clit, and he smirked.  _

_ “Sure, Gwen. You and me forever,” he lied, before kissing her roughly. _

She shot up, barely breathing, as the wind rustled through the curtains and the open window beyond. It was still dark, and she looked this way and that, completely silent. Her other roommates, Kitty and Jubilee, were both snoring though, and she slowly realized no one had witnessed her dream but  _ herself.  _ At the thought, her skin flushed once more, as a heavy blooming jumble of embarrassment and arousal coursed through her. Another one of his memories. It had to be. She blushed again as she recalled the details, pulling the blanket tightly around her, the dog tags now feeling heavier around her neck. 

He’d been gone for months, but, still, almost every night, she dreamt his dreams. Re-lived his memories. Felt his feelings. Tasted tobacco and whiskey in his mouth, smelled the iron in blood as he hunted. She relived memories of wars, but also memories of idle, sunny days. Memories she wasn’t even sure he knew about. And the women. She couldn’t believe the things he’d done with women.  _ To  _ women. She should be disturbed, it should have turned her off--they were all from  _ his  _ perspective, anyway-- and yet…

Her skin flushed hot again and she felt a slickness between her legs. Instantly, she sat further up in bed, unable to shake the feeling like she’d been caught red-handed. 

_ Get a grip, Rogue,  _ she thought to herself, wiping the hair out of her face. She shouldn't be thinking like that. She had a boyfriend now, after all. And Logan, well, he was still gone. And probably wasn’t coming back any time soon. Still though...she gripped the dog tags, bringing them up to look at the name  _ Wolverine. _

The truth was Bobby had been giving her shit lately. For not kissing him, for not allowing him to touch her. She’d given him a hand job a few times, gloves on, but it seemed like not enough for him. Sometimes, she wondered why she was bothering at all. Sometimes, she wondered if he was scared of her. 

_Fuck you until morning. _Her mind jumped back to those words and how heavy and gruff his voice was when he’d uttered them. God. What would that feel like? Someone strong and heavy and capable rocking into her all night, holding her close, something animalistic and natural and raw in every caress, every moment, every feeling. Her body craved it, was on fire for it, but every time Bobby tried to get close, she felt repulsed. _What the hell was wrong with her?_

_ You can’t have who you really want, so you’re settling,  _ she reminded herself, and she frowned. 

She didn’t want to be Logan’s doormat. She still wasn’t sure  _ why  _ he’d given her the dog tags, either. They felt like a promise, an intention to take care of her. But...how? How from so far away? Had he only felt bad, because of what had transpired between them? Was it a gesture of pity? Kindness? Affection? And what happened  _ when  _ and  _ if  _ he came back? 

She’d imagined more times than she could count she was the woman in some of the memories she’d witnessed. It was always hard, because everything was always from his perspective, which was sometimes just  _ weird,  _ but she had an imagination. She used it. She imagined the feeling of rough hands, taught muscle, maybe even the cold sensation of metal….

She could feel her hand snaking down her stomach, when suddenly, Jubes muttered something that sounded like “fuckin’ boys” in her sleep before snoring on, and Rogue’s heart jumped into her throat as she whipped her hand away.  _ Jesus christ.  _ She had to stop being so jumpy. For chrissakes, she wasn’t in trouble, and it wasn’t  _ her fault  _ she’d been dreaming those things or that she was turned on by them. Again, Jubilee mumbled in her sleep, and Rogue sighed in frustration, clutching the dog tags once more. What did it matter what she touched herself to? What did it matter  _ who  _ she dreamt of? She wasn’t hurting anyone, and she was under no real impression anything would become reality. She was a little girl to him, she knew that from what he’d given her. A little girl who had needed  _ saving.  _ She frowned, and lay back down on the pillow. She didn’t want to be the damsel in distress anymore. She’d started taking self-defense classes with Pitor for that reason. But she was still eons away from joining a team, if she even wanted that. Still eons away...from him. 

_ Could try a little harder, kid. Yer too skinny. Those push-ups ain’t gonna do themselves.  _ His voice, every once in a while, still echoing in the chamber of her mind. She frowned. 

_ Shut up, Logan,  _ she thought bitterly, before turning over in bed, giving up on her arousal, intent on sleep.

** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, August 2023_ **

** _Somewhere Over Siberia_ **

It was pitch fuckin’ dark, although it really wasn’t. He snarled, jolted awake, but one sniff of the stale, recycled air reminded him.  _ 2023\. The jet.  _ Always, the fuckin’ jet, hurtling through the air tens of thousands of feet in the sky. He could sense it was still daylight out there. They always slept during the day, the jet in stealth mode, using the darkness of night for the occasional mission- and something about the fact that his days were nights and his nights were days kept him feelin’ uneasy. Also, they were constantly airborne, the only safe place anymore. It had been years since he’d been fuckin’ airsick, but a rare wave of something feeling like that suddenly settled over him. He snarled, laying back down again, flipping over onto his side.  _ Just fuckin’ sleep.  _ It had been days since he had, drinking instant coffee and pourin’ over jet readouts, just for something to fuckin’ do, the dog-eared paperbacks he’d swiped from here and there over the years fallin’ apart with as many times as he read ‘em, now strapped to the side of his desk with a bungy cord, ignored. 

As part of the normal ritual, he cast out his hearin’. In low tones, Erik’s footsteps and the occasional noise from his and Charles’ quarters, although he realized if the pair were awake, they wouldn’t likely be talkin’ with their minds and not their mouths. That only left Storm, and he heard her sigh from the cockpit.  _ Fuck.  _ She wasn’t asleep either then, although the jet was simply on autopilot, hovering in circles above a desolate region of Siberia. 

The truth was, there was hardly anyone fuckin’ left. They were down to their last defenses. Most days, Charles and Lensherr were holed up in the room on the jet where Cerebro was housed, deliberating. Storm kept the jet in the air, which was all the time, because they were always in the fuckin’ air now. And Logan? He was fuckin’ useless. Nothing to fight anymore. Nothin’ to fight when the other side had won. His only job lately was goin’ on the occasional raid for fuel and supplies.

Sometimes, when it was bad like this, when all hope seemed lost, they’d seek each other out, givin’ each other what the other fuckin’ needed. Ever since Libya, things had become more...desperate. He knew Erik and Charles were close companions, was sure of it, and he and Storm...well. It was out of necessity. 

The first time it had happened, things had been a whole hell of a lot different. Another mission botched, although they had come back in much better shape than in Libya. She’d been holed up in her small room all night though as Logan ran through the debrief alone with Charles, and long after the sun had risen and Logan fell in and out of sleep, he’d sensed her presence. 

_ He was up in an instant, shirtless, about to get to his feet to deal with whatever the fuckin’ problem was, but a steady hand had stopped him, and he stared down at it to realize she was only in a tank top and not much else.  _

_ “Lay down,” is all she said, and he stared at her, eyes wide in the dark, as she pushed him back on the bed. He growled at her groggily, but she only silently shook her head, before stripping, pulling off her nightshirt and shrugging her shoulders a bit. His eyes flew up her naked body, her mocha skin blending in with the tones of night, her slender limbs, her full breasts, and the silver-white curls between her legs. He growled lowly, half aroused and half distrubed at this advance, and managed to find his voice.  _

_ “”Ro,” he said, and he communicated the rest through a growl he hoped she understood.  _ This ain’t us. There’s a reason we don’t do this _ . But, if she had understood, she ignored him, quietly taking the time to lay down next to him on the bed, taking one of his hands and wrapping it around her slender form so he eclipsed her. He sighed heavily then, gently leaning his forehead on the bare planes of her narrow back. He could count the notches in her ribcage if he wanted to, although he wasn’t surprised. They were all half-way starvin’ as it was, and the only reason Logan wasn’t leaner was because his body woudn’t let him be.  _

_ “Storm,” he managed to say again, but she was pulling his hand lower, across her stomach, and lower. He snarled, before turning her flat on her back, hovering just beyond her. There was a wanting, desperate look in her eye. One he didn’t recognize. _

_ “Fuck me,” she whispered. _

“No_,_” _Logan growled, his whole body betrayin’ him, skin burnin’ up hot, dick rock hard the instant his skin had made contact with hers. He hadn’t fucked a woman since Sable. Six goddamn years of jerkin’ off to memories left somethin’ to be desired._ Still_._ _“I respect ya too goddamn much.”_

“To hell _ with your respect,” she hissed, and then, she was lifting herself up on her forearms to kiss him, hard. It was a strange sensation, foreign, the desperate want to kiss somebody, even if he knew the kiss was wrong. Storm knew it too, but still, her tongue slipped into his mouth, and he growled as she made the move, finally pushing her back on the bed and pinning her there.  _

“ _ You don’t want this, baby. I’m not...I can be rough. With women,” he managed to say. _

_ “I know. And I don’t care,” she said, eyes pitch black as she stared at him. Again, the animal whined, jerking against the chains, but, once more, he shook it off and frowned. _

_ “We’re friends, ‘Ro. Equals. Always have been,” he murmured, even as he ran one rough thumb along her delicate collarbone. _

_ “Haven’t you been listening to Charles? They’re planning something. They’re planning the end…” Storm whispered to him in the dark. _

_ “That time travel crap?” he said, cocking his head at her, and then she frowned, running her hand down his abdomen, making him shudder.  _

_ “Jesus  _ fuck _ ,” he muttered, closing his eyes tightly for a moment, every muscle in both arms taught with tension as he hovered over her.  _

_ “Don’t make me ask again,” she murmured. “Think of it, like anything else we’re made to do. A mission. An order. Or, hell, just a _ favor. _ For me.” _

_ He at first snarled a bit at that, but then, despite himself, grinned a little.  _

_ “Sweetheart, yer goddamn gorgeous, and you know it. Ain’t no _ favor,  _ ain’t nothing _ difficult  _ about havin’ ya right here and now. That scent on you right now tells me that,” he muttered, snakin’ a hand behind her neck, running a thumb down her pulse, and she sucked in a breath. _

_ “Then what’s the goddamn problem?” she hissed, and he frowned once more even as his thumb still traced the lines of her thin shoulder. _

_ “You’d trust me with yer life, and I’d trust you with mine, but you ain’t in love with me, ‘Ro. And, if we do this tonight, you know we’d both wish… it was someone else,” he muttered, and then, she stilled his hand. _

_ “Maybe so,” she whispered, taking his hand and holding it closer to her lips. “But...you’re the only thing I’ve got, Logan. My only friend. My only _ ...anything _ . And, if Charles is right, all of this...is almost over,” she finished, before kissing his knuckles, and then smiling. “And I’ll be  _ damned  _ if I die or cease to exist without being thoroughly sated a few more times before it happens. And I know you well enough to know you’re capable of the task.” _

_ He snorted, and she smiled, before he sighed. _

_ “Fine. But…’Ro. Tell me, alright? Tell me if ya need me to stop or if it gets to be...too much,” he partly growled, and she nodded quickly, before he slowly moved his hand lower, like she had initially willed, and she gasped in pure lust. _

_ He wasn’t a fuckin’ preist. He savored every moan, every arch of her back. As he made her come, several times over, he swore to fucking god the plane shook from somethin’ outside every time it happened, but he ignored it, keeping on the task at hand, making sure to satiate her completely before havin’ his fill.  _

_ It had been quick enough, quicker than he would have liked, but they both had screamed out when he came, his hands holding her arms tight enough that he knew she’d have bruises. Again, the plane shuddered. She welcomed it though, welcomed  _ him _ , and after he’d spent himself inside her, he collapsed next to her, both of them breathing heavily, enjoying the after effects of something both of them had been denied for a very, very long time. He simply listened to her heart beat for long moments, quick and wild at first from sex, eventually slowing to a steady rhythm. While it happened, she lay her head on his chest, tracing random words in Arabic on the inside of his arm, like lovers might.  _

ثقة سلام مساواة

_ Except that they weren’t.  _

He’d felt fuckin’ awful that first time, guilty somehow, but Storm’s behavior hadn’t changed around him at all. When he noticed a bite mark on her shoulder, however, he’d quickly pulled her aside to ask if she was alright. She had only smiled, lowering her forehead to his chest and murmuring a quiet, “Yes,” before excusing herself.

In the months since, it had happened three or four more times, and, after, she’d always go back to her room. Additionally, in the months since, Storm had been right about the plan. Charles had located Kitty, Bobby, and Pete with Cerebro. All of them still alive, all operating under Bishops’ leadership and command. He’d fought alongside Bishop in ‘20 for a few months, and it was no surprise that tough sonofabitch was still alive, but the news of the others shocked Logan. In fact, he only believed it after Charles had explained how they might be doin’ it. By time jumping. Logan wasn’t sure of the specifics, none of them were, but it would explain the disturbances Charles had felt when using Cerebro. And, if it did, Charles and Erik had their plan. They had isolated a point in the past, after almost a year of research and deliberation, where the tide could change. The notion had become like a religion to the older two men, and Logan and Storm had spent the past twelve months twiddling their thumbs, keepin’ everyone airborne and fed, while the other two figured it out. And the whole thing was festerin’ within Logan. He didn’t like the fuckin’ plan. There was nothing fuckin’  _ real  _ or  _ concrete  _ about it. He didn’t like the idea of Charles returnin’ to the past, defenseless. He didn’t like that they weren’t even sure if Kitty could pull off such a stunt. He didn’t trust an earlier version of Erik  _ or _ Mystique for a fuckin’ minute. And Logan was doubtful keepin’ Mystique from killin’ Trask would make any goddamn difference at all. It all came down to a simple fact. The Professor couldn’t accept what the older mutant already had: they had lost the war, and it was over. 

Once more, Logan snarled at the thought, throwing on a black t-shirt and pair of sweatpants to stalk out into the main portion of the jet. He noticed the two men had retired, and he smiled a bit to find Storm nose-deep in a book he’d lent her some time back: Zora Neale Hurston’s  _ Dust Tracks on a Road,  _ legs propped up on the console, wool socks on her feet. The blinders were turned off, and his eyes struggled to adjust to the blinding light of the Siberian sun, since they were above the clouds.

He took his time, making a pit stop by the kitchenette to make them both a cup of instant coffee, and then he was padding into the front of the jet, handing her a chipped mug.

“Book alright?” he asked, as she finally put it down, taking the cup from him in gratitude.

“It’s really good,” she smiled, rubbing one of her temples. She was in a simple cable-knit sweater and athletic pants. 

“Where are we headed?” he asked quietly, staring out at the cloudless sky.

“The latest location Blink teleported them to was China, a remote Bhuddist temple, so we’re headed southwest,” she sighed, taking a sip from the mug.

“So we’re finally makin’ contact, eh?” he sighed, leaning on the console, shooting a glance to the room that housed Cerebro, and beyond to Charles and Erik’s quarters. 

“Sounds like it,” and, to his surprise, Storm smiled. “Bobby Drake, Katherine Pryde, and Piotr Rasputin. I taught them all,” she said, and Logan grinned. 

“Makes sense why they’re still alive then, lucky kids,” he muttered. At his remark, though, Storm’s smile fell.

“Does it…” she trailed off, and Logan frowned.

“What, ‘Ro?” Logan asked cautiously, guessin’ at where she was going with this. 

“Does it make you think of Rogue?” she asked carefully, and then Logan was really frowning. No one had spoken her name in years, especially not after he’d slept with Storm. It’d been the same with John, from what Logan could tell. Some things didn’t need to be unearthed. 

“I don’t know. She left so early on, way before those kids did,” he muttered.

Storm only stared at him for a long moment, before she gave it up, setting down her mug. 

“We’ll be there by tonight,” she murmured, glancing out at the midday sun, coloring everything in orange and yellow, and his eyes settled on the landscape beyond them as well, before he came up behind her, lowering his lips to the nape of her neck.

“Don’t worry, ‘Ro,” he growled into her ear, and she turned to look at him, eyes wide with the very dread he was trying to will away from her.

“Logan. Don’t you understand? If this  _ works.  _ If Charles can make it…”

“We undo the war,” Logan growled, looking a little confused.

“We undo  _ everything,”  _ she whispered, a sad, longing look in her eye. “What if...what if I never make it to Xavier’s? Or worse...I’m not..” she trailed off, pulling her gaze away from him and glancing down at the steel interior of the jet.

“Hey…” Logan murmured, taking her hand and pulling her to stand. “You’ll  _ exist,  _ sweetheart. There’s no goddamn way this world could forget moldin’ you from its clay.”

“Easy for you to say. You were already alive. So was Charles, so was Erik,” Storm bit her lip in thought.

“I know yer behind him a hundred percent, ‘Ro,” Logan soothed, squeezing her hand tightly. “So why all this fuss?”

“Logan…” she hissed. “If this works, it’s our last day alive. As we are. As  _ ourselves _ .”

For a moment, he simply blinked at her. He understood that, of course, on a logical level, but he had such little faith that the plan would actually work, he hadn’t considered the possibility of what would happen if it  _ did. _

“‘Ro…the likelihood of that…” he drifted off, and her frown deepened.

“But don’t you see? Or maybe...no. You don’t. How could you?” Storm asked, the nascent beginning of angry tears in her eyes, before attempting again.

“If Charles fails, we  _ die.  _ We’ll be there for  _ days _ , waiting for him to change history.  _ Days,  _ baby. The sentinels  _ will  _ find us, and we’ll have to hold them off as long as possible. If he doesn’t succeed, it will not matter. We’ll die protecting him. This...is it. No more fighting, no more….running,” she murmured, and something deep and unsettling grew inside Logan’s chest.

He’d had his leg blasted off by a Sentinel in a close run-in with them on a solo mission last year. It had been the first time he’d ever lost a limb, and when it grew back, it grew back without the adamantium, meaning the rust buckets were now capable of disintegrating his skeleton, which meant they were capable of ending Logan’s life. Not that he minded. He figured now that that’s how it would probably end for him, but  _ tonight?  _ And what about ‘Ro?

“If Kitty can even make it happen. If she can even send Charles back that far,” Logan muttered, brushing a lock her hair off her forehead, although this had the opposite effect he intended it to have.

“You’re hoping she  _ can’t _ ?” Storm hissed, pulling her hands away from Logan, who said nothing.

“Logan….think for a second. Think about the thousands of lives we’ve lost. Scott. Jean.  _ Rogue.  _ Even...even John,” Storm muttered, but Logan was shaking his head skeptically, crossing his arms and beginning to pace the small cockpit in front of her. 

“‘Ro, you just got done sayin’ that you weren’t sure your lot would even be capable of existing again _ ,”  _ Logan snarled.

“Whatever way it happens, this is it. Don’t you see that? What’s left for us? There's  _ nothing  _ left. You, of all people, should know when the war is over,” she argued, and something in him fought back a low, guttural growl as he rounded on her.

“Listen. I know we’ve fuckin’ lost it, Storm. You don’t think I know that? Everything I’ve ever known from warfare screams it. We’re nomads, kid. We’re lost…” he drifted off, but Storm still had a look of knowing in her eyes. 

“But… you’ve never had things end for you,” she finally whispered.

“They haven’t for  _ you  _ either,” he retorted.

“No, but, like most people, I’ve known they would end, eventually,” Storm said, a sad look about her eyes. At this, though, Logan was shaking his head bitterly.

“Trust me, I’ve known that about myself too, ‘Ro,” he hissed.

“ _ Have _ you?” she challenged, and he stood there for a moment, staring at her. 

He fuckin’ wished for it more times than he could count.  _ To die, to sleep.  _ And maybe..that fear in the back of his goddamn mind, that he wouldn’t...always when he was lookin’ over a large body of water, like how Jean, the  _ real  _ Jean died. Anytime, if he made himself stay down there long enough, he figured he could drown. He always had thought, before the Mark X’s, that’s how he’d go. But now...

“Whatever happens, we'll be together in the end, darlin’,” he said, and a fear in Storm’s eyes haunted him, because it told him that she knew, deep down, that he wasn’t necessarily talking to her.

  
  


** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, August 2008_ **

** _Staten Island, New York City_ **

_ About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him-and I didn’t know how potent that part might be-that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him. _

Rogue rolled her eyes as she looked up from her book, sighing heavily as she glanced around her darkened bedroom. The sun had set and the room was humid, and she was only in a tank top and underwear, lying on top of the bedspread. It was always hot in the attic and she kept the ceiling fan on constantly, not only because it had been such an unbearably hot summer, but also because the residential feline, Zeus, was scared of ceiling fans when they were off. An odd quirk about the cat she was beginning to truly adore. Rogue yawned for a moment, before moving to turn on the bedside table lamp. As soon as she did, she noticed a set of green eyes staring at her from the foot of the bed, and Rogue smiled at the intruder. Zeus had made his faithful nightly appearance, rubbing his head momentarily against the side of her foot, demanding attention.

“I really don’t get what the fuss is all about,” she said out loud to the cat, gesturing to  _ Twilight,  _ which she had closed in frustration and plopped on the bedside table. She’d purchased the book at the Borders in Penn station as a recommendation from her coworker Carmen- _ oh, trust me, Marie! You. Will. Love. It! -- _ to read on the long rides home on the Staten Island Ferry, and so far, she was unimpressed.  _ Falling desperately in love with a hundred-year-old vampire. Ridiculous,  _ Rogue thought, while she pet the black cat with the white belly, who arched his back and purred at her touch.

Zeus was technically Mrs. Mable’s cat, the woman whose attic she was currently renting. The house was a cozy bungalow, which had regrettably seen better days, settled in the heart of Staten Island. Still though, the house had good bones, which Rogue appreciated. It reminded her of the old homes on her street where she grew up, down to the antique hardware and floral wallpaper.

Just like her feline companion, Mrs. Mable had taken a liking to Rogue, mostly because Rogue paid rent on time and helped her take out the trash and would often listen to the woman’s stories of the city in the 1940’s when the woman worked for Western Union, even though Rogue had failed to tell the woman she was vastly undercharging for rent, being this was New York City. Rogue was only paying $200 a month, although that was about all she could afford from what she was making at the desk job she was currently temping at in the city. It was a long, expensive trek to work each day, and she had bought the book to get her mind off of the fact that, one afternoon, she’d glanced out the dirty window of the ferry to see the Statue of Liberty in the distance, and a cold shadow of a feeling had gripped her heart. 

Suddenly, in a rare moment of conversation, the cat meowed, bringing her out of her thoughts, and Rogue smiled. 

“What do you think, Zeus? Team Edward or Team Jacob?” she asked playfully as she continued to scratch the cat behind the ears, savoring the feeling of the soft fur, the body underneath that. 

She’d touched many things in the last year. She’d shaken hands and held open doors and hailed taxis, all without gloves. She’d gone dancing with Carmen. She’d kissed boys  _ and  _ girls while drunk. She’d hugged people. She’d casually touched them. She’d made out with some, gone to second and third base with a couple of others. She’d flirted and smiled and laughed. It had been everything she had imagined it to be, she had quickly realized. The only part she missed, of course though, was the company. She had been surprised with how long Logan’s presence stuck around in her mind after the torch, but from the day she had the injection onward, they all had disappeared, and for the first time in a long time her head was simply...empty. Voiceless.  _ Still.  _ At times, it was still disconcerting. Rogue alone in this tiny bedroom apartment with the seventies avocado-green kitchen and the bubbling wallpaper and the hallway that smelled like cat litter, but it wasn’t Westchester, and that was enough.

Rogue frowned at the thought. It took two days after she’d come back from taking the cure. Bobby had kissed her, and the look on his face told her he regretted it. Perhaps she’d known it from the beginning, how he’d react, but it was everyone else who made it hurt worse. Jubilee was fake around her, Kitty stopped speaking to her. She had even remembered Logan barely acknowledging her, walking around with a dead look in his eye, although Rogue assumed that was more from the events that had transpired in San Francisco than anything else. 

After the funeral, she had gone to bed exhausted and sad. And, when she had woken up the next day, she knew he was gone. Not Bobby, but Logan. No goodbyes this time. No dog tags to be handed off. She knew he had one foot out the door already, but...she would have thought he’d at least warn her. Say goodbye. And she knew, this time, he was gone for good.

It wasn’t long after that, she left too. She couldn’t face them, couldn’t face it. But, of course, away from the shelter of Xavier's, she had no money. It was rough, in the beginning. She’d been beyond lucky to find the posting of Mrs. Mable’s room, and she thanked the world for small favors. Slowly, as spring became summer, she found steady work, and steady friends, and her fears eased. She stopped seeing herself as  _ the other,  _ and, instead,  _ the same as.  _ And that was also enough. 

\--

The next morning, she frowned slightly at the book, but decided against her best judgement to take Edward and Bella with her on the ferry. She rolled her eyes through most of it, and by the time she got to the office, she dreaded talking to Carmen about whether or not Bella had made the right decision to stick with the vampire. Luckily, however, they were busy today, so Marie forced a smile on her face, tucked in her cheaply made button down shirt into her black slacks, fixed her headset in her ear, and pretended not to be tired as she answered the phone for HR at the pharmaceutical company in midtown she worked for.

“So are you coming out on Friday or not?” Carmen said after a particularly long phone call, before downing half a bottle of Evian. Rogue shared a cubicle with Carmen, a desk on either side of the eight by eight space. Carmen was a beautiful woman of Italian descent with a thick Long Island accent who had immediately taken a liking to Rogue when she first arrived there. Carmen had helped Rogue learn the ropes, and Rogue knew Carmen found Rogue "exotic” because of her southern accent, and was always trying to set up Rogue because of it. Carmen was also always drinking water and chewing gum between calls.  _ “To get the bad taste out of my mouth when I deny another claim,”  _ she explained one day to Rogue early on. 

“I don’t know. I’m kinda tired this week. It’s been a long one,” Rogue said about the weekend, cracking her knuckles as she glanced at the time.  _ 3:22pm.  _ Ugh. Time didn’t move fast enough inside a cubicle. 

“Well, you  _ should  _ come out because  _ I  _ have a date,” Carmen said, a spark in her eye. Rogue laughed out loud at this, shaking her head.

“Why would I wanna come with you on your date, hun?” she asked, and Carmen rolled her eyes.

“It’s not a  _ date  _ date. I’m...checking him out. Meeting him and his friend for coffee. I could use a wing woman. Rosalie from payroll is setting me up with him. He’s her cousin, or something” Carmen said, and then, looking around the cluster of cubicles and leaning in a little bit over her desk she dramatically, “I guess the word is he’s a  _ mutant.” _

Rogue almost spit out the Gatorade she had been drinking, but managed to swallow and feign...surprise? Funny thing was, other than the rising anti-government sentiment, most humans out in the real world didn’t think twice about mutants, not their plight, their struggle to be accepted, none of it. Marie had been shocked to find this out, but, after some time, she had come to realize it was always this way with a group of people who had privilege over another- the privileged group never thought it was  _ that big of a deal  _ and it couldn’t be  _ that bad for them.  _ Anyway, this news was surprising coming from Carmen, because she usually liked the blonde, athletic, cookie cutter type.

“That so?” Rogue finally asked. 

“Yeah. Apparently...he has a  _ tail,”  _ she said, winking.

“Why does  _ that  _ matter?” Rogue blurted out, before she could stop herself, but then Carmen was grinning.

“Girl, use your imagination. Think of the  _ sex,”  _ she grinned, and Rogue must have made a face because Carmen was frowning.

“Didn't take you for a  _ speciesist, _ lady,” Carmen said through a pop of her gum.

“I’m  _ not-”  _ Rogue sighed, but then Carmen threw up a finger, spit her gum out, and raised her eyebrows. Rogue frowned, but then turned to see their boss walking down the hall toward them. Mr. Henry Macintyre, Vice President of Human Resources, was a studious looking man, fairly young for his position--Rogue guess early thirties at most--always dressed nicely, with a pair of tortoise shell glasses settled on his nose that Rogue found herself taking a liking to. He was polished, poised, a  _ gentleman,  _ she thought upon meeting him _ .  _ Unlike Nancy who was in charge of the administrative assistants, he was never gruff with the underlings, never condescending or patronizing, and he always checked in on all the HR staff from time to time, but especially Rogue. To the point where Carmen had suggested maybe their boss had  _ a thing  _ for her, which Rogue had immediately shrugged off.

“Hello ladies,” he greeted them, stopping for a moment to hover outside their cubicle.

“Hello Mr. Macintyre,” Carmen smiled her brilliantly white smile, and Rogue simply nodded at him.

“Busy day today, yeah?” he said, directly addressing Rogue.

“Uh, yeah,” she muttered, through a quiet smile. “You too?” she asked and he grinned.

“The worst,” he said, his blue eyes dancing behind his glasses, and she found herself a little lost for words as he focused on her.

“Oh, Marie,” he finally added, extending a file folder her way. “Do you mind sticking around a little later today? I need you to make some calls. We need to extend invitations to the additional names listed here for the webinar on Friday, sort of last-minute. I hate to put this on you, but I trust you to get it right,” he said through an honest smile, and when Rogue found herself taking the file folder, she noticed their fingers just momentarily brushed, and a surge of adrenaline coursed through her. Of course, he was completely fine, hadn’t even likely noticed it had happened. 

“Of-of course, Mr. Macintyre,” she finally said, and, again, he smiled at her and pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Thank you, Marie. You’re the best,” he replied, and then, just before he was about to walk down the hall, he stopped, turned on his heel, and added, “Remember what I told you both. Call me Henry,” he smiled.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, Henry,” Rogue murmured, and then he was nodding and Rouge watched as he walked off to his office down the hall. She smiled a bit, and when Rogue turned back to Carmen, the other woman was grinning devilishly at her.

“ _ What?”  _ Marie asked defensively. 

“Nooottthhinnngg,” Carmen said, before holding up her finger as her phone began to ring. Rogue frowned a little, before turning back to the manila folder. She opened it up to look at the list of names, mostly other HR heads of other pharmatech companies, only to notice there was a post-it note on bottom of the piece of paper with a note scrawled in Henry’s handwriting.

_ I really do need to thank you for doing this. I know it’s annoying to ask you to stay late. Maybe wanna grab a drink with me sometime so I can make it up to you? My treat. - H _

Rouge’s smile widened as she quickly closed the manila envelope, grinning like an idiot now, just as her own phone began to ring again. But even the ringing telephone, even the bad novel on her desk, even the long ferry ride she’d have home tonight, sailing alongside the memories of her past, memories of  _ him,  _ couldn’t shake her current mood, as she set down the folder and put her headset back on, answering a little more cheerfully than normal with her rehearsed response.

“Transigen Incorporated, Human Resources Division. My name is Marie. How may I help you?”

  
  


** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, August 2023_ **

** _Somewhere Over Siberia_ **

He’d led Storm back to his room and had fucked her hard, with intention. They were beyond propriety, and she had cried out in pleasure when he’d spent himself inside her. After it was over, he breathed long and hard, sucking in the recycled air, and she whispered a prayer in Arabic. Then, for a moment, no one spoke, both of them simply...existing, until, despite himself, he grinned. 

“If it is the end of the world tomorrow, there’s sometihn’ you could fill me in on,” he smirked, turning to her, her cheeks still flushed from sex. 

“ _ What?”  _ she asked skeptically, wiping a sheen of sweat off her brow as she tried still to catch her breath.

“When I...well. When  _ you….”  _ he trailed off. “The plane shudders a bit.”

Instantly, a blush crept up the woman’s cheeks as she grabbed a pillow and hid her face. He grinned, before slowly lowering the pillow with one hand.

“Fess up,” he teased, and she sighed before trying to convey her thoughts in words.

“I...well. It’s just like you, isn’t it? You can’t help but-” Storm began, rubbing her shoulder in mild pain from the latest bite mark, even as Logan tried to interject.

“-hey now we  _ talked  _ about that-”

“ _ So... _ it’s like that. I can’t...control everything I do with weather all the time. Not when I feel like  _ that,” _ she grinned, and he smirked. 

“Thought so,” he smiled, and kissed her, hard once more, but then she was the one pulling away, and he realized she wanted to ask him something.

“While we’re on the subject…” she began, running a hand through the graying hair on one of his temples. 

“Something you said...the first night. That I had a... _ scent.  _ Can you really…sense... _ that _ ?” she asked.

He smirked, kissing the side of her neck for a long moment, before growling into her ear, “ _ yeah.”  _

\--

Later that night, they’d made love one more time. The second time, it was slower, every gesture, every kiss, every bite, marred with longing, not as two people  _ in love,  _ but two people who, despite their differences, loved and respected each other very much. 

Afterward, though, sleep was erratic and interrupted. It was the first time Storm had not disappeared back into her quarters, and Logan realized it was strange having a woman sleep beside him, even though he understood on every level why she had chosen to stay. It was likely their last time together, whatever that meant, and her fingers were threaded in his own. Logan, however, kept waking at the strange and rare sensation of a woman asleep in his bed, lying next to him, and his dreams reflected the other times, the other precious moments, when he hadn’t been alone.

_ Down in the military barracks, fifty feet under the ground in the middle of October, the cold finally getting to him. The anticipation of the mission tightening its grip on everyone. He’d finally fallen into a fitful doze, before he heard the door open, and his ears pricked at the noise. But then, the sound and weight of her soft footprints. When he turned, she was there, lying on top of the covers, in the same t-shirt she’d worn when he’d had her on the table and up against the wall, so close to claimin’ her.  _

_ “Marie, what’re you-” he started, but couldn’t seem to finish.  _

_ “You know what you have to do,” she murmured, and he looked at her quizzically. _

_ “Protect Charles,’ he muttered. “Keep him in the past as long as possible.” _

_ “No,” she hissed. _

_ Logan looked at her evenly in the dark, trying to stifle something black rising up in him. He wanted to watch her from this angle, hair falling softly on the blankets, constantly, all the time, for fucking forever. _

_ “That’s the memory; don’t fall back into it,’ she murmured. _

_ “I’m not mad at you,” he insisted. “Fer pullin’ away last night. I know I’m not anything you signed up for.” _

_ “You’re not understanding.” _

_ “What, Marie? What are ya trying to tell me?” _

_ She frowned, and lay back down next to him. _

_ “Marie…” he muttered. _

_ “Everything you know is going to change. And you’re the one who is going to change it,” she whispered. _

_ “Marie, what’re you-“ _

_ “It’ll be so lonely, sugar, knowing what you know. So, so lonely,” she said through hot tears.  _

He jolted awake in the dark again, looking around this way and that, only to notice Storm in a deep sleep next to him. Then, he tried to slow his breathing, regulate the rhythm of his heart. He closed his eyes tightly. It had been a little over a year since he’d dreamt about her. Finally, after years of torment, the memories had faded, until now. And it didn’t take a genius to guess why. 

Meanwhile, the sun had set and night had fallen around them, and he had a message on his virtual comm they’d all had injected into their wrists a couple of years ago that they were approaching. That’s when he left his bed, careful not to disturb Storm. He’d showered quickly, and came back in the room silently. He suited up with intention, piece by piece. Military grade cargo pants, bullet proof body suit, plated armor. He was lacing up his boots when she stirred, still naked, staring at him.

“It’s time,” she murmured, not a question, not a statement. A truth. 

“Yeah,” he whispered, leaving over the bed, to kiss her neck one last time. “Let’s end it.” 

\--

  
  


** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, December 2008_ **

** _Brooklyn, New York City_ **

She could feel him lightly trace the plane of her back in her sleep, and she grinned into the pillow. She must have dozed off, and when she opened her eyes, he was next to her, his lean physique stretched out beside her, head propped up with one arm, smiling softly. 

“Damn. You caught me,” he said, 

“Watching me sleep?” she asked and he nodded guiltily.

“You looked so serene, couldn’t help it,” he said, before leaning down to kiss her gently on the lips. She smiled into the kiss, but as they parted she rolled her eyes.

“Liar. I snore and flop around a lot when I sleep,” she said but he was shaking his head.

“You sure? I haven’t noticed that. Over here, peaceful as can be,” he said, and Rogue snorted, yawning and opening her eyes more. It was morning from what she could tell, the way the light flooded into his pristinely clean bedroom. As Rogue opened her eyes more and noticed the way the light was hitting the bedroom, she frowned slightly.

“What time is it? Do I need to get going?” she asked, looking around the pristine room. 

They were currently in Henry’s brownstone in Brooklyn. He’d inherited it from his parents, who had both died in a car accident when he was younger, but you would never know a bachelor lived there. Everything matched, the furniture chic and just so. The curtains complimented the lush bedspread. The knick-knacks on the dresser were perfect for the aesthetic composition of the room. It looked like a hotel, apart from a thin layer of Henry’s likes and dislikes draped over everything.

Henry was like that. In many ways, the opposite of most men she’d known. He was clean, organized, methodical. He was a thinker, carefully considering his actions in almost every situation. Underneath his orderly, cool exterior, however, Henry was actually sort of a nerd. He was into model airplanes and had them set up all over his basement, he had an extensive record collection, mostly early nineties grunge, and an eye, of all things, for interior design.

_ I think...I would’ve been a decorator, if my buddies in college wouldn’t have flamed me for it. They would’ve all thought I was gay. _

_ Is it so bad, to be thought of as gay?  _

_ Not now, of course not. But back then...I don’t know. Things were different. So anyway, I ended up needing a degree in something else. HR fit with most of my college credits. _

Marie hadn’t asked how he’d ascended so quickly at a multinational company, even if it was only the HR division. New York was Transigen’s world headquarters though, and the office took over eight stories of a building in midtown Manhattan, so the position was no easy thing to attain.

Instead though, she had learned about his likes and dislikes, his habits, the things they had in common. They both liked Thai and hated reality television.  _ I had five sisters, the Bachelor was always on.  _ They liked Battery park the best, but hated midtown Manhattan.  _ There’s no place to breathe.  _ He could cook too, a welcomed change from most men Rogue had grown up around, and Rogue had spent many evenings with him in his kitchen, suggesting ways to experiment with recipes, drinking expensive wine, and feeling extraordinarily grown up. She’d spent less time in Staten Island and more time here over the past two months, even though she was still dutifully paying her rent to Mrs. Mable. 

“It’s Saturday,” he said, looking at her incredulously, as he tucked a piece of her ivory hair behind her ear. 

“I know, sugar. I just don’t wanna impose...” she began but he was already shaking his head, moving to thread his fingers in her own.

“Impose? Babe. I’ve already asked you to move in with me,” he was saying into her ear, and then Rogue was blushing

“A decision which I’m still carefully considering-” she began, before he interrupted her.

“-So having you stay for the weekend is very much  _ not  _ an imposition,” he muttered to her. 

“But isn’t the summit like...two weeks from now?” she asked, and he only shrugged his shoulders. 

“I refuse to work on the weekend,” he said through a smirk, and Rogue rolled her eyes, knowing that he often worked on the weekend, and after hours, and just basically all the time, if he wasn’t assembling tiny Revell Super Hornets. 

“Well, Carmen asked me to go shopping this afternoon on fifth avenue, which is sort of ridiculous. It’ll be window shopping for me. But I’ll stay here until then,” she said through a smile.

“Why the shopping lately?” he asked. “All that girl seems to do is shop.”

“I know,” Rogue said through a small frown. “I don't know  _ where  _ she gets the money. But this time around she has a new boyfriend. That mutant guy that she met a few months ago. She’s giving it another try,” Marie said through an idle yawn and a stretch of her arms.

“You don’t say…” Henry muttered, suddenly looking oddly uncomfortable. 

“What?” she asked, her brows furrowing as she tried to guess at his feelings. Henry’s frown deepened and he shook his head.

“Nothing. I just don’t always get  _ that _ ,” he muttered.

“Get what?” Rogue asked carefully.

“Dating mutants,” he said matter-of-factly, and suddenly Rogue whipped her head up to look him straight in the eye. He must have sensed her discomfort, because he immediately started to backtrack. 

“I’m not a racist or speciesist or whatever they call it or anything...it’s just. Sorry. It’s just too weird for me, I guess…” he trailed off through another shrug of his shoulders, while Rogue’s eyes still narrowed in suspicion.

“Uh huh. So you don’t think people should be allowed to date outside their subspecies?” she asked cautiously, and he was shaking his head in mild regret. 

“No!  _ No.  _ I didn’t say  _ that _ , I just said... it isn’t for  _ me.  _ That’s all.  _ Other people  _ are allowed to do whatever they like,” he finished, looking at her a bit worriedly, like he might have fucked the whole thing up.

Rogue frowned, trying to understand what this new bit of knowledge meant. So far, Henry had seemed accepting of everyone, all religions, races, and creeds. He certainly treated everyone fairly at work, although, now that she thought about it, there weren’t any  _ obvious  _ mutants employed at Transigen. And mutants really hadn’t come up in their conversation before. They also hadn’t talked politics a lot, although she knew Henry had grown up Catholic and still was, and therefore he was a tad bit more conservative. But this was often a fact she overlooked, instead choosing to focus on his epic nineties grunge collection or the fact he knew how to make the perfect egg soufflé. 

“You’re a little old fashioned, you know that?” she finally said through a small smile, deciding to trust him, and moved to ruffle his hair a little. As she did so, she felt him relax a bit more. 

“I thought you liked that about me,” he said through a playful grin, and she nodded.

“Hmmm. I do. Who else do I know makes  _ model airplanes? _ ” she said, and as she kissed him again, longer this time, deeper, suddenly he pulled back in surprise. 

“Ow,” he said, and she looked at him quizzically

“What’s wrong?” she asked, tilting her head at him in confusion, as he touched his lips for a moment like they were tender, before shaking it off, smiling.

“I think you shocked me, hun. Must be all this electricity in the air,” he said through a goofy grin, and Rogue rolled her eyes.

“Ok, no more corny jokes from you, or you shower alone,” she teased, moving to sit up in bed, still naked from the sex the night before.

“You wouldn’t banish me,” he joked, inching toward her, before grabbing her arm to get her to stay.

“I might,” she joked, and he grinned again, attacking her with kisses once more. 

  
  


** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, August 2023_ **

** _China_ **

As the jet descended through the clouds, all four team members were suited up and seated near the front of the plane. Charles had made the final contact with Kitty, and they were due to arrive in minutes. The Bird hadn’t landed in over a month, meaning none of them had been outside in as long, and Logan fiddled with two of his last cigars he’d been savin’ with a lighter in a utility belt pocket, desperate for some fuckin’ fresh air. He glanced at Storm, who noticed his fiddling and frowned, before Charles murmured her name and she focused on the task at hand, casting a thick fog around what looked like a temple carved into a Himalayan mountain. 

By the time they got off the damn plane, Logan counted seven. They were dispersed in tactical positions, someone constantly on the lookout. He’d only had time to nod to Blink, Bobby, Kitty, Pete. It was a fuckin’ trip seein’ the last three, let alone aged as they all were. Years on the run had taken their toll, and Logan quickly got a sense they were never in one place for very long. They were lean, grizzled, hardened in a way not even he and Storm were, and Logan was startin’ to realize how fucking valuable having the Blackbird still was. As long as it stayed in the air, they were alive, safe. On the ground, they would’ve met their end months, if not years, before, from the sense he was gettin’ of how bad it was. 

Once they were gathered just outside the temple, things moved fast. Too fast. They were explainin’ quickly how their time-jumping worked, and Logan stole a glance at Storm across from Charles and Erik. They both were vaguely aware of the pair’s plan, but there were several details they’d kept Logan and Storm in the dark about. Logan had figured it was Charles’ business to know ‘em, since he was the one making the trip, until, just as Erik acknowledged that the plan might work, Kitty interjected. 

Again, Logan shot a look over to Storm, who frowned. Logan wanted to can the mission for several reasons, the most obvious being if it wasn’t foolproof, they’d all die, most likely, and this last thread of hope would die with ‘em. And there was no fucking way of making sure it was foolproof. They were breaking the very basic rules from tactical strategy 101.

“You wanna go back there,” Kitty remarked, staring at the Professor knowingly. Logan could tell from the moment she spoke, she was doubtin’ the mission’s integrity, same as him.

“If I can get to her, stop the assasination keep her out of their hands, we can stop the sentinels from ever being born,” Charles explained.

“-And end this war before it ever begins,” Erik added, and Storm looked at Logan with a waning hope in her eyes with what Kitty said next. 

“I..I can send someone back a couple of weeks, maybe a month, but you’re talking about going back decades…” Kitty stopped, frowning as she stared intently at Xavier. “You have the most powerful brain in the world, Professor, but the mind can only be stretched so far before it snaps. It would rip you apart. I’m sorry. No one can survive that trip,” Kitty trailed off, and then, it all clicked. The fuckin’ dream. Marie. The reason for the whole goddamn war, maybe. 

_ Everything you know is going to change. And you’re the one who is going to change it. _

“What if…” he began, and he could fuckin’ feel the heartbroken glance Storm threw at him, but he didn’t look her way. He couldn’t. “What if someone’s mind has a way of snapping back? What if...someone can  _ heal _ as fast as they’re ripped apart?” 

_ Logan, know what you’re signing up for,  _ he heard Charles inside his head.

“It’s a risk,” Bishop interjected, and Logan frowned.

_ This is yer plan, Chuck. How else you gonna make it happen? You better goddamn fuckin’ fill me in on the details, or I ain’t gonna be able to do shit. _

“Yeah, I’m getting that,” Logan snarled sarcastically.

“Not just for  _ you.  _ You do this, you change history,” Bishop retorted, and Logan sighed, refraining from closing his eyes in fuckin’ frustration. A second ago he’d been a hair’s breadth away from boycotting the entire fuckin’ thing, and now he was signing up Kamikaze-style to alter reality. All because he’d grown soft for the old man. Or for Storm. Certainly not for fuckin’ Magneto.  _ Fuckin’ hell.  _

“Well, that’s kinda  _ the point,”  _ Logan shot back, but Bishop was still shaking his head. 

“Some of us could be killed. Some of us may never be born. We have no idea how things may change,” Bishop pressed.

“We could keep going, keep fighting,” Blink interjected, and then, finally he heard ‘Ro step forward a second before she spoke.

“Until  _ what?  _ You all have got a decision to make. You can keep sending Bishop back in time, over and over again to warn you until one day he doesn’t make it. And you all die. Or, you can give up this life, so that they and everyone else who died in this war can actually have a future,” she shot a glance at Logan, who frowned.  _ Ida. John. Rogue. Alive. Safe. Back.  _

“You’re asking us to sacrifice our lives for a future we may not even be a part of,” another one of their people interjected angrily.

“Yes,” Magneto said.

“A second chance. A  _ better  _ chance,” Charles paused, glancing at Logan solemnly. “For everyone.” 

_ Another life, sugar. A better one.  _

“My people need to vote,” Bishop warned, but by Charles’ smile Logan knew his fate was fuckin’ sealed.

“They already did. They’re in,” Charles murmured. 

At this, Logan once more glanced to Storm, who was now frowning sadly. He sighed, nodding again to Charles, as Bishop called his team to him, most likely to devise tactical strategy while Logan was under. 

“You’re undergoing immense sacrifice for your kind,” Magneto offered Logan, who only barely stifled a growl. 

“I ain’t the inventor of this harebrained plan of yers, Lensherr. So yer gonna have to give me more to work on than that,” Logan growled, before Charles addressed them both.

“Logan, Erik, you need to meet me inside the temple. Storm, my dear…”

“I’m to join the others,” she said, glancing once more to Logan, who frowned deeply.

_ Whatever happens, we'll be together in the end.  _ No longer was that true. Not for him and ‘Ro.

Charles seemed to notice this, and cleared his throat. 

“Erik, join me inside. Logan, once Kitty and Bobby are in too, you take care of the door. Then we will brief you,” Charles murmured, and then, the pair left the two still standing in the cold of a temple carved into the Himalayan mountainside. 

“Erik  _ is  _ right though,” she murmured, brushing off the shoulder of his suit, giving him a nod. “You’re sacrificing much.” 

“I ain’t sacrificing any more than you are, ‘Ro. And it’s like you said. What’s  _ left _ ?” he growled, glancing out at the Blackbird and the harsh landscape beyond, before looking back at her. 

“We’re counting on you,” she whispered, and he shook his head, wishing to God any other scenario beyond the one that was about to happen was possible. Logan fuckin’ hated being forced into a corner by fate. It was the same way he felt when the color had drained out of the frame when Rogue had said her final goodbye. 

“And I’m countin’ on  _ you.  _ You watch yer back out there, ok, ‘Roro?” he barely choked out, and then she had tears in her eyes, as she nodded bravely.

“Like Charles said, a better chance,” she murmured through tears, and then the dam threatened to buckle, fear and grief just on the other side, threatening to inundate him. 

“Jesus Christ, kid. C’mere,” Logan muttered, collecting her into his arms, hugging her fiercely. She lay her forehead on his chest for long moments as she cried, just as she had the night before, but this time, something deep down in Logan knew it was the last time. No matter what happened, no matter what he woke up to, this world would be gone.

“Go. Help them,” he muttered, and she nodded, and then she disappeared, slipping into the dark black of night, ordering the others to “spread out” as he backed into the temple, across the divide, closing the door between everything he had ever known, and everything he didn’t.

  
  
  


\--

** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, May 2009_ **

** _Staten Island, New York City_ **

She paced the tiny bathroom with the linoleum floor nervously, clutching the white plastic test in her sweaty palm. It was unseasonably hot for May, and she quickly wiped away a sheen of sweat from her forehead, finally deciding to take another glance at the test.

_ Fuck,  _ she thought. Two lines. Still two  _ fucking  _ lines. 

It had been a sick, twisted urge, to buy the test. Sure she was two weeks late, but she had been late before. In the beginning, she hadn’t thought twice about it, since her period was always irregular since using birth control, but...she’d always taken it on time. Religiously, since the cure. Of course she did. She was sexually active, after all, and, at only twenty-five, the  _ last  _ thing she needed was a baby. And yet...standing in the line at her neighborhood bodega, she felt compelled to grab the test. She’d downed a bottle of water on the walk back to her place, and now, as fate would have it...two  _ fucking  _ pink lines. She grabbed the instructions again from the  _ First Response  _ test ( _ Can tell you as early as six days before a missed period!),  _ staring at them hard, her hands still shaking.  _ One line: not pregnant. Two lines: fucked.  _ She sighed, sitting down on the toilet once more, head in her hands, breathing out shakily 

If this was her only problem, she’d almost be  _ happy. _

A few times, just a few times. She’d worn t-shirts this spring, and sometimes if she brushed up against someone, while on the subway or on the ferry, they’d jump back, as if they’d been shocked. Every once in a while, Henry would be touching her and stop, looking at her strangely. She hadn’t  _ hurt  _ anyone. She  _ couldn’t  _ anymore, right? She had prayed to God that it was just an aftereffect, some residual bit of power leftover. But...if she’d thought about it, she had been able to touch people for two years now, no problem. And now...

She frowned, padding back into the sticky bedroom, the TV on the background having finished a rerun of  _ Friends  _ she’d been watching, now switching to the five o’clock news. She hadn’t been paying attention, but now her ears picked up on the words flowing out of the antiquated nineties TV set.

_ As mutant militia groups rise in response to the funding of research for inhibitor collars by the US government, the outpouring of mutant resistance continues. The mutant registration act is still set to be put in place by fall of 2010…. _

She frowned and immediately stalked over to the TV, snapping it off, then stared down once more at the plastic test she was still holding, her thoughts erratic, anxious and wild.

Maybe it was a good thing. If something  _ was  _ happening with her powers, she wouldn’t be able to carry a child, right? She would have to miscarry. Was that awful to think? To hope for? She bit her lip, and flopped down on top of the bed, just as Zeus came up to be petted. It was a Sunday afternoon, a rare time for Marie to be home, but Henry was working today, and she had nowhere else to go. She sighed, running her hand idly over his silky smooth fur. 

What would Henry  _ do  _ if she told him? It wouldn’t have been so bad if they hadn’t had that fight about the upcoming election. The primaries had just ended, and he had decided to back the conservative party candidate, a horrid man that had voted for the mutant registration act, that had lobbied for the inhibitor collar funding. That night, she’d almost thrown something at his head when she learned the truth of who he intended to vote for. 

_ Why are you so upset with me? You know I tend to vote conservative. _

_ But for  _ him  _ of all people? _

It didn't help that she saw Henry less lately, as well. The job was more serious now, more demanding. He recently had been promoted to an executive level position at Transigen, and because of it she saw him far less often now that he was out of the HR division. No office visits, no random lunch deliveries from her favorite sushi joint, no flirting by the water cooler. She still spent most nights with him--her things had taken over two drawers in his bedroom, after all--but often he’d return late from work, later than Marie, certainly, and had dropped into bed, exhausted. He’d also seemed distant lately, out of focus, although he remained adamant that she move in with him when her lease was up. Which was happening soon, at the end of the next month. Recently, before any of this mess, she had been toiling over the idea, ignoring what Carmen had told her last week.

_ If you really wanted it, you would know like  _ that, the woman had said, with a snap of her fingers.

Marie frowned again, once again staring at the test on the bedside table. 

“What am I gonna do, Zeus?” she asked that cat, who simply went on purring as she scratched him behind the ear.  _ Well you’re no help,  _ she thought tiredly.

_ Be honest with him _ , her gut responded instead. She loved Henry. He loved her. He’d take care of her if she was pregnant. He’d marry her, financially support her, anything she wanted, she knew he would. And yet…

_ I’m not a racist or speciesist or whatever they call it or anything...it’s just. Sorry. It’s just too weird for me. _

What if he did learn she used to be a mutant, though? How accepting of her situation would be  _ then _ ? What if she passed the X-gene to her baby? Did taking the cure actually change her genetic structure, or just dull the gene?  _ God, why hadn’t she asked these questions beforehand?  _ A stupid twenty-three-year-old, desperate to get Bobby back, to forget about Logan, unaware of how  _ any of it  _ may affect her future. 

Marie bit her lip in thought. Maybe...just maybe… one piece of news needed to happen before the other. Depending on how he reacted to the fact that she used to be a mutant...then maybe she’d tell him about the pregnancy. If he wasn’t repulsed, if he didn’t clam up, if he  _ accepted  _ her still, then maybe. And, really, how hard was it? She looked normal. There was nothing about her that was  _ freaky.  _ She was still Marie after all, right?

_ But if your powers do come back... _ Marie shuddered at the thought. If her skin turned back on completely...it was over for her. For  _ them.  _ Even if Henry was accepting, she refused to do that to anyone. Condemn them to a life without touch. She couldn’t go back to Xavier’s, that much was for certain, but maybe she could make her way back up north. Get another HR job...most likely miscarry...and then…

Suddenly, horrific pain up her right arm, the feeling of claws embedding into her skin and  _ yowl  _ from the cat she had been petting. She hadn’t felt the connection snap open, but the cat had jumped back, hissing and spitting at her, before quickly darting off the bed and running out of the room. She sat there, shocked, holding her own hand in the other, staring down at the long, red scratches the cat had left on her arm. 

_ Oh, god. What was happening? _

_ You know what’s happenin’, kid,  _ his voice responded, and she practically cried out as she shut her eyes tightly, pretending she hadn’t heard.

\--

Marie stared down at her drunken noodles dejectedly, another wave of nausea suddenly overtaking her. That had been happening lately. She’d be fine, hungry,  _ starving,  _ and then so nauseous she could barely breathe. They were currently camped out in Henry’s new office, which was the size of about ten of her cubicles, eating take-out. It was a little past ten at night, and she had decided to camp out at work and wait for her boyfriend to finish up. He looked exhausted tonight, sleeves rolled up and tie undone, also only picking at his pad Thai with a pair of chopsticks, as, finally, Marie set down the paper container and stared at him from across his large glass desk. She’d been putting off telling this man anything for the past week, and he could tell something was up. He’d been asking her what was wrong, if anything was the matter, and she’d been lying her ass off. Meanwhile, this kind man, this beautiful man she loved, perfect hair now mussed from running his hands through it, dark circles under his eyes from working so hard, whose only flaws included being a little too straight-laced and bullheaded sometimes, was trying to love her. To be with her, and here Marie was still keeping everyone at arm’s length. 

_ Maybe you have a reason to,  _ a voice--she wasn’t sure whose anymore-- said in the back of her head, and she shook it off. 

“I... have to tell you something,” she finally murmured to her dinner, before looking up to him hesitantly. Instantly, she could tell he could sense the trepidation in her voice, and he set down his chopsticks, staring at her, concern laced in his blue eyes. 

“What? What’s wrong?” he asked, and she sighed, trying to once more fight back tears. She was so fucking’  _ emotional  _ lately, she could barely stand it.

“I don’t know how to say this…” she drifted off.

_ Marie, don’t,  _ his voice inside her head growled, and she shut her eyes tightly for a moment, before continuing on. 

“I’m  _ sorry  _ I didn’t tell you before, but…I’m or I was...a mutant,” she finally said blankly, staring at the man in exhaustion.

He only blinked at her, mildly confused, a shadow of  _ something  _ passing over his features, before he shook his head a little and asked, “What?”

“I had the cure...and I just didn’t think you needed to know in the beginning, because...it wasn’t,  _ I  _ wasn’t...that...anymore. And then, well, what you said about all mutant stuff, I was afraid to tell you,” she dropped off, now truly crying. He still seemed to be catching up, but the moment he saw her visibly upset, he was muttering a “Hey.  _ Whoa.”  _ and he was out of his chair, quickly moving around the desk, gesturing for her hand. She hesitated, and then he was pulling her to her feet.

“Come here,” he said, and then he was collecting her in his arms as she cried into his shoulder. For a while, they stood there like that, while he gently stroked her hair. 

“ _ Jesus,  _ Marie. It’s...it’s ok,” he finally said, and then she was pulling away, looking at him in concern.

“It...it is?” she asked, a pathetically hopeful note in her voice, and he stared at her assuredly.

“Hell yes. You think I care about that? I just... I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me, talk to me. God, Marie, that’s the  _ last  _ thing I want,” he dropped off, and she was sighing in relief, hugging him tightly once more.

“Thank God,” she whispered, through a relieved laugh, and then he smiled, pulling her back slightly to stare at her once more.

“What...did you think I was gonna dump you or something?” he asked through a tired laugh.

“Well, right before Christmas, you said…” she dropped off, and he was already shaking his head, still holding both her hands in his own.

“I’m an  _ idiot  _ for saying what I said at Christmas. I’m sorry...sometimes I just can’t shake...look. I’m stupid, ok? Marie, there’s a reason I’ve been single as long as I have. I’m a nerd who has  _ zero  _ social sense,” he said through an awkward laugh and a shake of his head.

“That’s not true,” she said through a smile, and he frowned a little, tucking back a lock of her white strand of hair.

“If...you don’t mind though...I’d like to ask,” he said and she encouraged him to keep going. “Why are you telling me  _ now?”  _ he said, and her heart jumped into her throat.

_ Don’t you dare fuckin’ tell him anymore, Marie,  _ Logan’s voice snarled with him.  _ Protect the cub, at all costs,  _ he spat, and she closed her eyes, tightly. 

_ Get out of my fucking head, Logan,  _ she screamed inwardly, as she looked up at her boyfriend once more. _ _

“I just...well. If we’re gonna move in together, I thought you deserved to know the truth,” she lied, and, at this, Henry smiled at her.

“Sure...baby,” he replied, and then an odd, goofy grin overtook his features.

“Can I ask...what you could do?” he whispered to her, and she smiled a little at his curiosity

_ Marie… _

_ Shut. Up!  _

“I could...take other mutant’s powers,” she said through a shrug of shoulders. “I’d touch another mutant...and I could pretty much use them for a while, like...collect them.” 

At this, he smiled oddly at her. “Are you...serious? Like...you could rack up powers? Like fucking Pokémon?” he asked and she rolled his eyes at him.

“You’re  _ such  _ a nerd,” she muttered. 

“And what would happen if you touched...you know...regular people?” he asked suddenly and she whipped her head up to him once more.  _ How much of the truth to tell? How much to give away? _

_ Protect the cub at all costs... _

“I…. nothing. Nothing would happen,” she lied, and then she blinked confusedly at her own lie, surprised at herself that had so easily done it. 

“Oh,” Henry only said, before squeezing her hand once more. “Marie...” he added, and she looked up to him hesitantly once more.

“Yes?” she asked, trying to read the feeling, emotion, the  _ truth  _ behind his ice-blue eyes.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said through a small smile, which she meekly returned

  
  


** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, August 2023_ **

** _China_ **

Things were going from bad to worse, quickly. As Logan was breifed, he learned in 1973 Lensherr was imprisioned in the fuckin’ pentagon, and Charles was useless without his powers. He’d spoken to Charles telepathically for some of it, Chuck implanting addresses, facts, pieces of knowledge in his brain quickly. As he listened to the brief, Logan sighed, staring down at the cement slab. No where, at any fuckin’ point in his life, would he have imagined himself  _ here.  _

As he ran one rough hand down over it, he found himself shuttin’ down whole parts of his mind. He always did before a mission, a fight. Lockin’ up old memories, turnin’ down the volume on nagging thoughts. Things had precariously wobbled with seein ‘Ro off. If that happened again, as Kitty was explainin’ to him, he was in for it. 

He was flat on his back now, Kitty remindin’ him of the things he didn’t needed to be reminded of. The one fuckin’ truth he’d known since last night, when Rogue told him as much. 

_ You know what you have to do. _

“Once you wake up, whatever you’ve done will become history, and for the rest of us it’ll be the only history that we know. It’ll be like the last... _ fifty years  _ never happened.”

_ It’ll be so lonely, sugar, knowing what you know. So, so lonely. _

“And this world, this war, the only person who will remember it... is you.”

_ 1973\. It was after Vietnam, after he’d been discharged. Where the fuck had he slinked off to? Where had he been hiding out?  _

“You won’t have much time in the past. The sentinels will find us, they always do.” 

_ He’d still been pining over Evelyn, even twenty years later. Doin’ a lot of illegal shit. Fuckin’ a lot of loose women. Workin’ for mob bosses, experimentin’ with drugs. He’d gotten sloppy, and, because of it, a few years later he’d be Stryker’s prize possession. This was the time before things went blank. Was Marie born yet? No. Not by at least ten more years.  _

“And this time we won’t be able to run. We’ll have no escape. This is our last chance.” 

His fuckin’ heart beating louder in his chest. So loud he swore everyone could fuckin’ hear it.

“You really think this will work?” 

“I have faith in him.”

“It’s not  _ him  _ I’m worried about, it’s us. We were young. We didn’t know any better.” 

“We will now,” he heard Charles say over the pounding of his own heart. And then he was muttering somethin’ real lame about seeing them soon, and then...pain. Fuckin’ incredible, awful, intense pain. He felt like his mind was being fuckin’ ripped out of his goddamn body, he felt his claws tearing through his hands, heard himself screaming, and then the world went blue and green. 

  
  


\--

** _Pinwheel Universe: Original/Revised Timeline, May 1973_ **

** _Manhattan, New York City_ **

It smelled like pot. Pot and booze, and maybe a trace amount of cocaine. The smells harassed his nose as he slowly opened his eyes, feelin’ like he had the worst fucking hangover of his goddamn life. The world seemed wavy, like he was in the middle of the goddaamn ocean, until he realized... _ fuck.  _ A waterbed. A lava lamp. A woman’s arm, smelling like expensive perfume and cocaine.  _ Shit.  _ Another godamn dream, another goddamn face his memory was forcin’ in front of him, provin’ what a shit-person he’d been. He snarled a little, still blinking away the pain in his head, standing slowly, confused, until he caught a glimpse of himself, stark-ass naked, in the mirror. And then…

_ Wait. Fuck. Fuck.  _

The fuckin’ gray. The gray Marie had pointed out what felt like a century ago. Gone from his hair. His face, the slightest bit younger. Flexing his muscles, he noticed scant differences. He was stronger. Younger. Had it…

He clawed at the blinds, starin’ out the window at...Times Square?  _ Fucking hell.  _ Times Square alright, just the seedy, shitty 1970’s version of that crap before they’d taken the time to crack down on all the organized crime and prostitiution. Before it had looked like goddamn Disneyland. And certainly before it had become a militarized war zone, the last time he’d seen it in ‘19. 

_ It worked. _

He cursed to himself, noticing his pants lying on the radiator. He started getting dressed, trying to decide if he should wake up whoever was in bed with him, when he heard footsteps- _ three men, one the leader, two heavies-  _ walk purposefully down the hallway toward him, before barging into the room, only two seconds after he’d pulled his jeans over his bare ass. 

“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” he muttered. “Who the hell are you?”

_ Where the fuck was he? Who the fuck was the woman? _

“Gwen. Get dressed,” one of ‘em said.

_ Gwen. Well that answered that question, at least.  _

“Hey. I don’t know what’s goin’ on here,” he started again.

“What’s goin’ on is you’re supposed to be guarding the boss’s daughter, not screwing her,” the fat one said, dressed in a cheap-ass suit, smelling of some fuckin’ awful cologne and cheap whiskey. The other two, one in pinstripes and one in a leather jacket, both looked dumb as fuck.

_ Gwen. Boss’s daughter. New York City. Fuck, was this Joe Columbo’s girl? Were these his flackeys?  _

“I didn’t _ sleep  _ with her,” Logan protested, and the girl named Gwen threw Logan a nasty look, even as his mind sluggishly recalled four months of fuckin’ her senselss, drinkin’ a lot of Columbo’s free booze and getting high as a fuckin’ kite on random Tuesday afternoons with this woman.  _ Hell...was she even a woman? God, he hoped she wasn’t underage.  _ He glanced at the woman who was now trying’ to zip up her platform boots as quickly as possible from the bed.  _ Fuck. She might be underage.  _

“No?” Fat Ass asked.

“No. I mean, yes, I slept with her many times, but…” he stammered, ignoring the woman’s protests from the bed. 

“Jimmy!”

Logan frowned.  _ You want me to tell the truth, you want me to lie. Make up yer goddamn mind.  _ Meanwhile, he kept muttering on.

“That wasn’t me, that was the old me. I just got here, like, twenty seconds ago.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what happened to your clothes?” Fat Ass remarked, and then Logan’s mind was catching up. 

“My, uh? Oh,” he said, glancing down at his still-naked torso. 

_ He needed a fuckin’ shirt. And a car. And cash. _

“Uh...would you believe me if I told you I was sent here from the future?” he couldn’t help but smirk, and the woman in the bed stared at him like he’d lost his goddamn mind.

Meanwhile, Fat Ass was laughing at him, and Logan knew where this was going real fuckin’ quick. 

“Get out of here sweetheart,” Fat Ass ordered the girl, who frantically picked up the rest of her clothes. “We’re gonna take care of this comedian for you.”

“No, yer not. Yer going to give me the keys to your car and some money for gas or yer gonna end up in the hospital. Trust me, I know how these things play out,” he muttered, almost bored, flexing his muscles just for the hell of it. 

“Oh! Because you’re from the future?” Fat Ass asked sarcastically, and Logan was done fucking around with this loser.

“No,” Logan said, smirking. “Because of these,” and then he was flexing his forearms, the faithful claws tearing through the skin of his knuckles, except it sounded different, felt different... _ what the fuck? _

_ Before Styrker, you fuckin’ idiot,  _ he thought to himself, glancing at the bone claws once again through a frown before throwing his fists down and planting himself, just when he noticed he’d fuckin’ stabbed the waterbed, lost focus for a second, and took a round and a half of bullets to his chest because of it.

_ Fuck, he was rusty,  _ he thought, as he took the beating, practically welcoming the pain of somethin’ as simple as multiple gunshot wounds, and not a fuckin’ Mark X incinerating his goddamn leg off. Still though, it fuckin’ hurt like hell, and he cursed out loud, half-pissed at himself, but more alive then he’d felt in  _ fuckin’ months.  _ As his body easily pushed the bullets out, each one landed with a dull  _ thud  _ on the brown shag carpet. 

They all still had their guns drawn, staring at him wildly, like he was a fuckin’ freak, which, unfortunately for them, he  _ was.  _ Finally, he got to work, snarling as he sliced the first gun out of Fat Ass’s hand, probably takin’ a finger with it, before threading his claws through the gun of Pinstripes, throwing him to Logan’s right so he shot Leather Jacket in the leg, then dragged the man around quick enough with his left to stab Fat Ass in the spleen with his right, finally throwing Pinstripes to the floor and stabbing the fucker through the arm for good fuckin’ measure, until... _ fuck.  _ Shot in the goddamn back by Leather Jacket while he wasn’t lookin’. He snarled, bared his teeth and rounded on Leather Jacket, stabbing him in the chest, only to be shot in the fuckin’ face by the greasy Fat Ass in the cheap suit, making Logan’s head radiate in pain in the still-after effects of the time jump. Logan shouted, stumbling a bit on the spot, before snarling once more, lunging forward and stabbing Fat Ass where shoulder met arm. That’s when he noticed the keys, and whipped them out of his suit coat pocket with the free set of claws into the air. Fat Ass dropped just as he withdrew the claws and caught the keys with his left hand. 

He seethed, breathing out harshly, feeling goddamn  _ alive  _ and  _ useful  _ and  _ free,  _ before he remembered Kitty’s warning and muttered to himself, “Peaceful  _ thoughts.” _

He whipped around, grabbing a wife beater he found balled up on the floor, takin’ a whiff of it— _ clean enough _ — before searchin’ for a shirt that looked like it might be his. Finding one-- _ god the seventies were a fuckin’ ugly decade-- _ he quickly shrugged it on and buttoned it, before snatching up a brown leather jacket hangin’ on the back of the chair. Turning around to the table, he found a mostly empty booze bottle, some cigars, which he swiped, and a wallet. He frowned, opening it quickly, only to see his own goddamn face looking back at him. “Jimmy Olson,” the fake stated. 39 years old. 6’2”, 200 pounds.  _ Real fuckin’ cute, Howlett,  _ he thought. He picked through it, only finding a receipt with a buncha numbers scribbled on it, an old punch card to an A&P in the Bronx, and a twenty dollar bill.

_ “ _ Goddamn broke  _ sonofabitch,”  _ he muttered under his breath, before walking toward Fat Ass and swiping his wallet as well. Two hundred bills.  _ That should about do it. _ He took the money, even as the man moaned on the ground, twirling the keys in his hand once more, and booked it out of the stale hotel room that now reeked of blood.

As he walked outside, he squinted in the mid-morning sun, the cars, the clothes, the _fucking phone booths, _all messin’ with his subconcious. He glanced around the street, trying to sniff out which ride might be Fat Ass’s, until he didn’t have to smell shit. “U LUCKY” on the license plate of a green Buick Riveria, and, on his keyring, a fuckin’ rabbit foot. _Bingo._ And if he was still unsure, as soon as he opened the fucking door and looked to his right, there was the girl again, still lookin’ strung out as hell. Logan immediately groaned.

“Jimmy! What happened to Ramone?” she asked, as Logan slammed the car door shut and sighed heavily. “And why you talkin’ crazy talk?” 

“Look, uh…” he stammered.

“ _ Gwen _ ,” she reminded him, now obviously pissed.

“Gwen. Yer gonna wanna lay low for a couple of days, alright? Startin’ now,” he muttered, reaching across the seat and opening up the door for her. “Come on. Out,” he ordered, and when she hesitated, he added, “ _ Go.” _

She left then, and he started the car through another sigh, trying to get his fuckin’ wits about him. New York City. He needed Westchester county. He ignored the radio in the background-- _ Today, the 18 MP Brigade is departing from Saigon, marking the last American troops to leave Vietnam-- _ ignored the Twin Towers looming in the distance, ignored the fact that somewhere, right now, Storm might be fighting for his goddamn life, and picked up a pair of aviators off the dash, settling them on his face, finally putting the Buick into drive.

  
  


** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, May 2009_ **

** _A Dark Room_ **

The first thing she felt was the taste of blood in her mouth. Blood she was swallowing. The bloom of iron, the warm, wet heat pooling behind her lips. She moaned, but as she tried to move her arms, she met resistance. The next sensation that followed: intense cramping. Horrible stomach pain.  _ No.  _ Not stomach. Lower. 

That’s when she panicked. 

She was duct-taped to a chair in a dark room. She screamed against the gag, trying to see in the dark, trying to breathe and failing, hyperventilating instead.

_ …. Marie. _

_ Logan. Oh, god. Logan,  _ Marie screamed internally.  _ The- the… _ she couldn't finish. She’d been calling it Skittles to herself, but they both knew. She was twelve weeks along, and it couldn’t be laughed off or ignored anymore.  _ The baby.  _ She felt the warm, wet sensation between her legs, she felt the horrible pain. 

There was a long pause, before another he answered. 

_ I can’t hear a heartbeat anymore, kid,  _ he murmured, and then she was outwardly sobbing, surprised, confused, as another wave of pain twisted her insides. 

_ You need to listen to me, Marie,  _ Logan said hurriedly.

_ Why? Why would I listen to you?! _ She railed against him. 

_ Yer powers are back, kid. How do you think yer talkin’ to me?  _

_ My...my powers. _

_ Marie, I know what yer thinkin’. Stop. _

_ My powers...touching people. You…. coming back.  _

_ Marie… _

_ The cure ran out. It was me. I did this. I did this. I killed it...I killed Skittles. I...I… _

_ Marie. Quit it.  _

_ I did this. _

_ Marie, calm down. Focus on the situation. If yer miscarryin’ naturally, seems like pretty fuckin’ uncanny timing to be doin’ it just as you were drugged unconscious and thrown in the back of a trunk, don’t ya think? _

_ There was blood...two days ago. Before any of...this. _

_ I know. _

_ I did this. My powers did this.  _

_ Kid, you don’t know that. Listen- _

She said nothing as she sobbed, barely listening as he kept communicating with her.

_ When you were unconscious...I was awake. I felt ‘em drag you out of the brownstone and into the trunk of a car. My best guess is yer in Long Island. Henry must’ve slipped ya somethin’ last night. _

_ He...he wouldn’t.  _

_ I’m not here to argue with ya, kid.  _

Marie said nothing, as another shot of pain radiated through her and tears fell down her face. She could tell she had taken a blow to her head too, as a throbbing, wet pain radiated from the top of her skull as she tried to focus on Logan’s voice.

_ They were talkin’, when they were tryin’ you up. I tried gettin’ as much information as I could. _

_ Who? W-Who was talking? _

He paused for a moment, and then she could practically hear him mentally sigh.

_ Transigen. _

Marie only blinked for a moment, trying to breathe through the pain as her mind tried to catch up.

_ Transigen…? Transigen produces overpriced Viagra and Epi Pens. They’re a pharmaceutical company. What would Transigen have anything to do with this? _

_ Marie...They’re working with Trask on something’. Heard ‘em talking about ‘the product’ and whether or not Trask will buy it. My guess is it ain’t legal. At least not yet. God knows the dirty work they’re doing under the table. I’d bet money that _

Suddenly, he was interrupted at the sound of a door opening, and then the small eight by eight room was flooded in the harsh glow of unnatural fluorescent light. She screamed softly against the gag, as she watched a tall, thin man in a pinstriped suit she did not recognize enter, along with two burly men who looked like bodyguards. He wore cowboy boots, too, and they  _ clicked  _ on the marble beneath his feet as he walked to face her, front and center, each body guard on either flank.

“Ms. D’Ancanto, good morning,” he greeted her, and she frowned against the gag, trying to scream. 

“Do not try to resist, Ms. D’Ancanto. You are thoroughly restrained, in the basement of a warehouse near the docks. It is the middle of the night and there is no one around. Let me introduce myself. My name is Claud Smithfield, and I’m the head of security for the North American division of Trask Industries. We’ve recently partnered with Transigen to help us procure certain... _ commodities." _

_ Smarmy motherfucker, Logan _ snarled inwardly. As her body again felt a ripple of pain and she was reminded of Skittles, Marie snarled alongside him, crying out against the duct tape firmly strapped to her mouth.

Then, the man was snapping his fingers, and then one of the body guards was handing him a small leather pouch. Marie jerked against the tape in protest, as the man pulled out something about as big as a paperweight, except that it was glowing yellow.

“You know; I was excited to try this out on you. Fresh off the line…” Smithfield sighed, holding the device in his hands. “Trask’s inhibitor collar. First edition,” he said, before frowning at it through a sigh.

“But, you surprised us, Ms. D’Ancanto. We just recently, in the past few hours or so, became aware of your  _ situation,  _ and, ironically, this inhibitor we were about to use probably  _ could  _ have saved your child’s life…” Smithfield trailed off through a wicked grin.

Rogue cried out once more against the gag, internally panicking. 

_ I did this I did this I did this _

_ You don't know that. Jesus fucking christ, kid. They’re trying to make you weak, cut you down. Make you hate herself and yer mutation. You’ve had yer powers come back to varying degrees for months now. You fuckin’ know that, even if you couldn’t accept it. I’ve been around fer as long, waitin’ until you came to yer senses. Skittles was fine that whole damn time. _

“But we don’t want that. You, an  _ unnatural abomination _ , making more of your kind. Ironically, that’s what Transigen is working on, by the way. Drugs to sterilize mutant women, and maybe even human women carrying a recessive X-gene. But we don’t need to waste the money on the prototype for you, at least not today. No inhibitor for you, and, instead, good old fashioned duct tape.”

_ Don’t listen to them, kid. They could’ve slipped you anything. They make drugs for that, Marie. D&C, cocktail style,  _ Logan was meanwhile saying.

_ Please, please, please stop,  _ she begged Logan.

“Even poor Mr. Macintyre wasn’t aware of that particular fact…” Smithfield said, and then Marie was jerking her head up. 

_ Henry… _

The sound of faltered footsteps, as a man with handcuffs was forced into the room. There was blood seeping from his head, and he was still in a button down shirt and tie from the Saturday meeting he’d come home from to meet her at his brownstone. They had made love the night before, and it had been slow and sweet. She’d cooked him lunch after work--they’d shared a pastrami sandwich-- and then she had laid down in his room to take a nap. She said she hadn’t been feeling well, and he’d kissed her on the forehead. That was the last time she’d seen him, only hours before. As soon as she made eye contact with him, her heart thudded so loudly in her chest she thought it could drown out everything else. Meanwhile, frightened, yet knowing, blue eyes bore into her own.

“Marie... I  _ swear _ ,” he tried to frantically mumble, until the one body guard was shoving him hard in the gut, and he winced as Smithfield talked over the commotion.

“We’ve been tracking you since you left Xavier’s, Ms. D’Ancanto.  _ You  _ may not be aware of it, but you’re an incredibly prolific mutant. You’ve fought alongside the X-Men after all, yes? You were there for the fall of Alkali…”

Meanwhile, Logan was snarling in her mind, more Wolverine now than the impression of the man she once knew.

“And when the cure wore off, which has been happening for the last year with most--honestly if you’d been  _ paying attention _ Ms. D’Ancanto, you would have known earlier--we wanted to make sure you were at our disposal for your unique...gifts. So we employed the help of Mr. Macintyre here to seduce you, keep you close. And I have to say...it was  _ remarkably easy,”  _ Smithfield grinned, as Henry once again struggled against the men who detained him. “He wore a bug of course. In fact, the entire Brownstown was bugged. Every word you’ve spoken, every move you’ve made, has been televised to the higher ups at Trask. Quite the show at points, I have to admit.”

At this, Marie was staring at Henry, her heart breaking, even as he was shaking her head at her. 

“No.  _ No. I _ God, baby, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t know everything...I didn’t…” Henry was stuttering, jerking again against his restraints. Meanwhile, Smithfield kept talking.

“Luckily for us, your mutation is taking care of your...situation. We can’t have you  _ pregnant  _ for what’s coming up next of course,” Smithfield was explaining, and then Henry was quickly looking up from Smithfield to Rogue, icy blue eyes meeting hers once more in a quiet, pained confusion

“Wait. Y-you’re...we...? Marie. Why didn't you  _ tell  _ me?” Henry hissed through his own tears now, as a swell of hatred and confusion and anger poured from her.  _ Was he in on it? Was he oblivious? Somewhere in between?  _ As Smithfield noticed her emotional reaction, an odd grin formed on his lips.

“Maybe she would like to answer?” Smithfield said, snapping his fingers once more and then one of the body guards was roughly ripping the tape from her mouth, and she instantly bent over to spit out blood and saliva, nearly choking as she did so.

_ Give ‘em nothing,  _ Logan barely was able to grind out through a snarl. She sobbed, barely breathing as she looked up to Henry once more.

“Who  _ are  _ you?” she seethed in anger, and he looked at her fearfully, once more shaking his head, but saying nothing.

“It doesn't matter  _ who _ he is…the only thing that matters is who  _ you  _ will be _ ,”  _ Smithfield said, handing back the inhibitor to the guard and wiping his hands, walking a step closer to Rogue. “You’ve been injected with a permanent GPS locator into your wrist, next to the ulnar and radial arteries, just in case you get any funny ideas to try to carve it out,” Smithfield said with a grin, before continuing on.

“I am excited to tell you, Ms. D’Ancanto, you’ve been promoted. Transigen operates as a subsidiary of Trask industries, and you’re moving up the company food chain so quickly! From here on out, you will act as a certified intelligence agent for Trask. You will be joining a prominent mutant rights group that has tendrils in upstate New York that has been a thorn in the US government’s side for months now, led by a mutant named Sidney Green, code name Onyxx. You will routinely feed us information of their whereabouts and their plans so that  _ we  _ may sell that information to the government. You will also extract information with your... _ gifts…. _ when necessary,” Smithfield said. At this Rogue let out a fresh growl, baring her teeth at the man as she practically embodied the Wolverine. 

“And  _ why  _ would I do  _ that?  _ I’d kill myself before giving you  _ anything _ ,” she spat, throwing a look to Henry, who was desperately still fighting against the firm grip of the man who detained him.

Smithfield sighed, pulling out an iPhone calmly, taking his time, and then began reading from it.

“Ororo Munroe. Katherine Pryde. Robert Drake. Jubilation Lee. James Howlett. Do these names mean anything to you?” he asked, and Rogue sneered.

_ Call his bluff, kid,  _ Logan snarled.

“You can’t  _ defeat _ the X-Men,” she spat, but Smithfield merely laughed.

“Haven’t you been keeping on the news, Ms. D’Ancanto? The X-men are mostly displaced, although  _ we  _ have their locations and know what they’re doing  _ even at the current moment.  _ But if that doesn’t...  _ move  _ you to espouse our cause…” he looked once more at the phone. “Todd and Diane D’Ancanto? Your parents, I believe? Or what about Carmen Bucotti? She has a wedding approaching in a few weeks, yes? Marrying a filthy  _ mutant,”  _ Smithfield muttered, spitting to the floor. “Not for long, if the separatist marriage laws go through. Anyway, if that  _ still  _ doesn’t persuade you, I also have a list of twenty cousins and friends, most of which have their own families with young children. There’s even...I’ll say...a goddaughter on this list? Olivia, age 5. She has a birthday coming up. Shame for her to miss if she were to face her demise. Shall I go on?” 

Rogue was openly crying again at this point, even as Henry looked at her helplessly, even as Logan growled in her brain, even as Smithfield continued talking. 

“We will exterminate them, one by one, including the children, if you don't comply. Quickly, if it’s a small mistake or infraction from you. Here. It’s probably best if I demonstrate,” Smithfield said, and then he turned, whipped out a handgun from his jacket pocket, and shot Henry square in the head from a close range. The other man didn’t even have time to shout “No!”, and instantly dropped dead to the floor.

Rogue wailed in newfound agony as Logan swore rudely from inside her mind.

“Shut her up again,” Smithfield said, and once more they were gagging her, even as the tears continued to fall.

“ _ As I was saying,  _ that would be for failing to report on time, or offering us useless information. A grave betrayal, however...well. Should you try to kill yourself, or escape, or if you give away  _ anything…. _ let’s just say your loved ones’ deaths wouldn’t be near as merciful as Mr. Macintyre’s just was,” Smithfield said, before snapping once more, and then two of the men were dragging Henry through his own blood and bits of skull and brain on the floor, out of the room, as Rogue watched. Then, the man in the pinstriped suit was turning back to Marie.

“Now, Rogue. Let’s prepare you for your first mission, shall we?”

\--

** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, November 2011_ **

** _Zuccotti Park, New York City_ **

The snow was softly falling from the sky as the mutants walked along the streets of lower Manhattan. They’d marched from the remains of the school, for miles and miles, in peaceful protest. They’d encountered some violence from onlookers, but for the most part remained undisturbed as the night wore on and the weather got worse. She’d marched alongside them in the cold, among hundreds, some of whom were crying, others who were chanting in remembrance of all who’d fallen before this moment. They were protesting many things: the fall of the Xavier mansion, the billion dollar “mutant cure” arms race by both Yashida Corp and Trask, the passing of Mutant Registration legislation. She was among her brothers and sisters and would be when it happened. All she had to do, all she needed, was to lead them to Zuccotti. The sentinels would arrive there as soon as she set foot in the park, and they would all die. Except for Rogue. Never Rogue. 

She had purposefully made sure the march was sloppily planned, as was her CI mission. Had purposefully made sure they didn’t have enough defensive strategies in place if disaster were to strike. It would be hard for innocents to get away; that was Rogue’s doing. This was by far her largest mission for Trask and would see the highest body count. She’d already lost her parents, Carmen, her goddaughter Olivia, for being only seconds late in responding or for missing tiny details of information in the past. She couldn’t afford another loss.

In the dark of night, arms linked with other mutants, she glanced over to a mutant named Onyxx. In addition to calling the sentinels, she’d have to absorb him tonight. He held top secret intel about the militia's plans for the next few months, intel not even disclosed to his fellow associates, including Rogue. She would have to extract it from him, and to do that she’d have to kill him. It was demolishing her inwardly, because Sidney had become a close ally, a friend, and Rogue had become someone Sidney thought he could trust

_ Rogue, if you only knew what I knew,  _ he admitted one night when the team was hiding out in the Bronx, preparing. 

_ Sidney, it’s ok. This will work,  _ she had lied. He had glanced down, as if he saw the future, saw its futility.

_ We’re lucky to have you, R. I couldn’t lead this fucking thing without you by my side,  _ he muttered, holding her hand through her glove with his own larger than life, granite hand.

Silently, tears in her eyes, she counted down the minutes. She’d been dreading this for months, had a razor blade hovered over her wrists just last night,  _ this close  _ to ending her life, ending it all, but hadn’t had the bravery to go through with it. The horrific truth was her family and friends meant more to her than the lives of her team, and it was with that thought that she stepped onto the lawn of Zuccotti, just as the time turned to midnight. In minutes, the streets would be painted red. In minutes, she would lose over half her team she’d been working alongside, whose trust she had earned over time through tears and lies and bloodshed. In minutes, she would sentence half of them to death, and she simply hoped,  _ prayed to God,  _ it was quick. 

_ Logan?  _ She called out again, but, just as always….nothing. No response. There hadn’t been one in years. 

_ I’m sorry,  _ she still thought, as she closed her eyes, and continued to pray.

  
  


** _Pinwheel Universe: Original/Revised Timeline, May 1973_ **

** _I-684, New York_ **

It was like someone had rewound everything. His memories from the seventies were still hazy, but it didn’t take a genius to appreciate a country in relative peace when he saw one. Like an idiot, he had initially tried the virtual comm in his wrist to cue up navigation before realizing this wasn’t his  _ actual  _ body at all, but the poor former sonofabitch’s body he’d stolen.  _ Sorry, bub. Got a lot on the line with this one. Not like you were bein’ a stand up sorta gentleman lately anyway, asshole. She looked seventeen, you lousy fuck. _

He settled for a map he’d found folded up in the glove compartment, but as the city was slowly replaced by countryside, he realized he didn’t need it. It was the same hour-long drive on I-684 it always had been. A drive he’d made a hundred times before, comin’ to and from Xavier’s, dropping in and out as he had. Still though, Logan had not been at the helm of anything but the BlackBird in a long, long time. Now, the sun was shining through the open windows, Pink Floyd was on the radio, and for a split second, he let himself relax, until a sense of guilt settled into the pit of his stomach. Guilt and worry.  _ Remember Storm. Remember the rest of them.  _ How the hell was he gonna get through to Charles? And how the hell was he gonna spring Lensherr? He ran through the old rolodex in his mind of who might be alive that he’d known in this time, that is, somebody that wasn’t neck deep in some illegal shit. Callaghan, Maximoff, maybe...he frowned, unsure of how old anyone was, where anyone was, except for the man he was headed toward now. At this thought, he floored the pedal, while the guitar rifts of “Money” escaped out of the Buick’s partially cracked windows. 

\--

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. He frowned as he drove up to the partially bashed-in gate, the white, chipped paint and “Private Property. Keep Out,” sign puttin’ him off. Everything was fuckin’ overgrown and ugly, but when he pulled up to the front entrance of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, something deep in him felt...off. He hadn’t laid eyes on this building since he’d left it almost twenty years ago, right after San Francisco, right after he’d helped bury Scott, Jean, Charles. 

A home, of sorts. A place to escape to. Now, in shitty condition. He frowned again as he got out of the Buick and stalked up to the front double doors, glancing around this way and that, using his senses to detect any sign of life, and waited, before a tall, thin man Logan didn’t recognize, no older than thirty or so, answered the door.

“Can I help you?” he asked, looking suspiciously to Logan, who was tryin’ to get a glimpse around the man at what lay inside.  _ A hundred times he’d been through those doors. More times then he could count, someone more than happy to see his goddamn face. Rogue. Storm. The Professor.  _ Realizing he needed ta say somethin’, he cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. What happened to the school?” he asked, remembering the discarded sign on the way in.

“The school’s been shut for years,” the man said, shaking his head. “Are you a parent?”

At this, Logan snorted through a shake of his head. “Sure as hell hope not. Who are you?” Logan asked.

“I’m Hank. Hank McCoy. I look after the house now,” the man was saying, and Logan’s brain struggled to keep up as he whipped off his aviators to get a better look.  _ Tall. Lanky. Geek fer sure, but no fuckin’ blue fur. No paws. No... _

“ _ You’re  _ Beast?” Logan couldn’t help but grin, realizin’, if it was true, even if he didn’t look a goddman thing like Logan remembered, it was fuckin’ good to see him. McCoy had been killed early on in the war, dragged out on his lawn and slaughtered by Human Majority. Storm and he had been in Mexico when they had learned of the news. It had been right before Rogue, right before everything changed. 

“Look at you. Huh. I guess you’re a late bloomer,” Logan muttered, sticking the aviators in his jacket pocket as the man beyond the threshold frowned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” he lied, and Logan smirked as he caught the door before it closed, realizing he had him. 

“So where’s the Professor?” Logan asked.  _ Best to get to the fuckin’ point. _

“There’s no Professor here,” Hank grunted, shaking his head vigorously, struggling to hold the door as Logan barely kept it open. 

“Yer  _ pretty strong _ for a scrawny kid. Come on…” Logan goaded through another vicious grin, almost growling now, switchin’ over to that other language, and Hank once more shook his head in abject denial.

“Sure there’s not a little beast in there? Come on Beast,” he teased.

“No. No. He’s not here,” Hank was saying.

“Come on Beastie,” Logan said, before easily pushing the door open and knocking Hank aside. 

“Hey!” Hank shouted, following after Logan. “I said the school’s closed! You need to leave.”

“Not until I see the Professor,” Logan muttered, boldly walking into the foyer, smiling as he did so.  _ All the fuckin’ same.  _ The carpet, the oil paintings, the same goddamn smells.

“There’s no Professor here,” Hank growled again, this time grabbing Logan by the shoulder to turn him around. “I told you that.”

Logan sighed, now kinda pissed off, and turned to him, momentarily pausing his search.

“Look, kid. You and I are gonna be good friends,” Logan said through a smile, and then he quickly delivered a punch to the poor kid’s face.  _ Terrible fucking reflexes. Where the fuck are his animal instincts?  _ Logan thought, before adding, “You just don’t know it yet.”

With that, he turned on his heel and headed up the main stairs, using his nose and heading left toward the faculty wing instead of right toward what had been the student wing. Quickly, he strode through the hallway, more scents, familiar and foreign, invading his nose, as he tried to pick out Charles, as he routinely shouted, “Professor?” 

Down one hallway, then another, then another, and then  _ fuck.  _ He barely had time to turn around before a fuckin’ blue ball of fur attacked him, claws out, attempting to plunge ‘em into Logan’s back. He tried to punch the furball, which only pissed him off further, as he easily flung Logan down the hallway and back into the foyer, where he landed on the fuckin’ stairs. 

_ So there’s the fuckin’ animal,  _ was all he had time to think before he was flung again to the table, Hank on the goddamn chandelier, Logan uselessly swatting the animal back with his hands,  _ this close  _ to poppin’ the claws, when he picked up on another voice. 

“Hank! What’s going on here?”

“Professor?” he asked, lifting his head hopefully from the foyer table to see a shorter man in about his thirties, hair long and unkept, holding an almost empty glass of watered down vodka,  _ fuckin’ walkin’ down the goddman stairs,  _ answering with a “Please don’t call me that.”

**“** You can walk,” Logan muttered on the table, blinking at the younger man, tryin’ to put two and two together. 

“You’re a perceptive one,” Charles said sarcastically.

“I thought Erik…” Logan muttered, trying to catch up.  _ Cuban missile crisis. Bullet curves through the air. Hits Xavier’s spine. _ That had been the fuckin’ story from the beginning. Suddenly his anger flared.  _ Charles hadn’t told him any of this.  _ Charles hadn’t briefed him on  _ shit.  _ If this was for some kind of goddamn ethics lesson, and not the grave oversight Logan hoped it was, he was gonna fuckin’ lose it. The goddamn world was at stake, and he hadn’t been completely briefed.  _ Fuck, fuck, FUCK.  _

Meanwhile, the young brat was still talkin’.

“Which makes it slightly perplexing that you managed to miss our sign on the way in. This is private property, my friend. I’m going to have to ask him to ask you to leave”,” he said. Meanwhile, Logan pulled himself up off the table and walked around to face the younger man. 

_ This was gonna be harder than he fuckin’ thought. This guy was moody as hell. Depressed as hell. _

“Well,” Logan groaned, cracking his neck and staring Charles directly in the eye. “I’m afraid I can’t do that because, uh, because I was sent here for you,” he said seriously.  _ God he fuckin’ sucked at this. Anyone. Anyone else in the fuckin’ world would have been more convincing. Anyone.  _

“Well tell whoever it was that sent you that I’m...busy,” Charles muttered, now sitting on the steps of the main foyer, drink still in hand, shooting Hank a look. Logan frowned, and continued on.

“That’s gonna be a little tricky, because the person who sent me... was you,” Logan said. 

“What?” Charles asked, zero patience detectable in his voice.

“About fifty years from now,” Logan added. At this, Charles, simply looked at him like everyone had been lookin’ at him all day. Like he was goddamn insane. And Logan was growing fuckin’ tired of it. Just then, the man broke into a sarcastic laugh, as Beast grinned, signing to Charles that Logan must be goddamn crazy.

“I know. Stay with me,” Logan said, willing all this patience to not come unglued.

“Fifty years from now? Like in the future fifty years from now?”

“Yeah,” Logan muttered, feeling like a goddamn fool.

“I sent you from the future?” Charles asked, again looking at Hank, who shook his head.

“Yeah,” Logan said again. 

“Piss off,” Charles spat, and Logan simply stared at the younger man, frowning, as he remembered what he  _ had  _ been briefed on. 

“If you had yer powers you’d know I was telling the truth,” he tried, voice still thinly patient.

“How do you know I don’t have my…” Charles trailed off, and suddenly he got serious quickly. “Who  _ are _ you?”

“I told you,” Logan said again.

“Are you CIA?”

“Nope,” Logan sighed.

“Have you been watching me?” Charles pressed.

“I know you, Charles,” Logan began, deciding to finally walk closer toward the younger man, careful to respect his space. “We’ve been friends for years. I know your powers came when you were nine. I know you thought you were going crazy when it started, all the...voices in yer head. And it wasn’t until you were twelve that you realized all the voices were in everyone else’s head. Do you want me to go on?” Logan asked, and silently, Charles shook his head, now convinced...of something. 

“I never told anyone that,” he murmured, and Logan sighed.

“Not yet, no. but...you will,” he added. There was a long pause from the younger man, before he spoke again.

“Alright, you’ve piqued my interest. What do you want?”

“We have to stop Raven. I need your help,” Logan said seriously, and then, thoughts flying back to those he had left behind, who were waiting, potentially fighting, dying, he added, “ _ We  _ need your help.”

For a moment, no one said anything, as a range of emotions passed over the younger man’s face. Logan could tell he hit a vein, as he sensed grief, pain, regret, longing, even, before Charles spoke once more.

“I think I’d like to wake up now,” he muttered, standing and walking past both he and Hank, headed toward his office, in the same place it always had been.

Logan said nothing, sighing, and followed Charles into his office, taking a seat across the desk from the younger man, who was fumbling around for a bottle of liquor that wasn’t empty.

Slowly, then, without bein’ prompted, Logan began explaining. Mystique’s role in Trask’s assasination and the uniqueness of her powers. How it had led to anti-mutant sentiment, the passing of the Mutant Registration Act. Then, the ghettos, the research facilities, the death camps. Logan ran his hands through his unruly hair as he tried to find the words to explain the severity of it all, especially in the last few years.  _ God, he needed a fucking drink. _

“Look, in the beginning the Sentinels were just targeting mutants. Then they began to identify the genetics in non-mutants who eventually would have mutant children... or grandchildren…” Logan trailed off. He’d remembered that. When they’d started seizing humans, not only ones who had helped them in the fight, but ones who simply carried a recessive version of the mutant gene. Pulling women out of their homes, packing them into white vans, shipping them to clinics to sterilize them, or exterminate them outright.

“Many of the humans tried to help us…” Logan drifted off, frowning. “It was a slaughter, leaving only the worst of humanity in charge. I’ve been in a lot of wars…” Logan murmured, before looking directly at Charles. “I’ve never seen anything like this. And it all starts with her.”

Meanwhile, Charles was barely paying attention. He’d taken his drink and had plopped down on the couch, a game of chess between Logan and the Professor who seemed like the furthest possible fuckin’ thing from the man he knew.

“Alright. Let’s just say for the sake of… the sake that I choose to believe you, I choose to help you. Raven won’t listen to me, No her heart and soul belong to someone else now…” he drifted off, and Logan sighed, too fuckin’ sick of the love triangle or whatever it was bullshit. 

“I know. That’s why we’re gonna need Magneto too,” Logan muttered, standing and rounding on Charles

“Erik? You know where he is?” Hank said from his spot in the corner, while Charles laughed once more, which was startin’ to really piss Logan off.

“Yeah,” he muttered to Hank before turning back to Charles, who was still laughing.  _ We don’t have fuckin’ time for this.  _

“Could you give me that one more time, please?” Charles asked jokingly, and Logan held back a snarl.

“You heard me,” he said forcefully, and Charles laughed harder, drunkenly standing, breathing out and then rounding on Logan.

“He’s where he  _ belongs,”  _ Charles spat, before heading out the door to his own office.

“So that’s it? You’re just gonna walk out?” Logan snarled after him. At this, Charles turned around tipsily. 

“Oh, top marks. Like I said, you are perceptive…” he sarcastically and bitterly laughed.

“The Professor I know would never turn his back on someone who lost their path,” Logan pressed, and, remembering the years since Charles and Erik had reconciled their differences, the moments he’d witnessed aboard the jet, Logan dared to add, “Especially someone he loved.”

That fuckin’ did it. Charles stopped in his tracks, danced in his spot for a moment, before turning around, a deep frown on his face. 

“You know...I think I do remember you now. Yeah. Tall angry fellow with contentious hair. We came to you a long time ago seeking your help. And I’m gonna say to you what you said to us then,” he said, only inches from Logan now. “Fuck  _ off.”  _

In an instant, Logan had him by the fuckin’ collar, patience fuckin’ extinguished.

“Listen to me,  _ you little shit,”  _ he growled, barely able to contain his anger enough to keep from punching the fuckin’ idiot. “I’ve come a long way, and I’ve watched a lot of people die. Good people.  _ Friends, _ ” Logan hissed, snarling at him. “If you wanna wallow in self-pity and do nothing, then you’re gonna watch the same thing, you understand?” he finished, roughly letting go of him. Charles only stared at him for a moment, lost in thought.

“We all have to die sometime,” he finally said, polishing off his drink and stalking back towards the foyer. 

  
  


\--

** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, September 2015_ **

** _Harlem, New York City_ **

A voice in her ear, just as she shifted on the threadbare cot, the thin numbers of her team left sleeping similarly. She led this militia group now, or what was left of it. A sharp bite to the evening had everyone shivering in the early fall weather. They were just outside an alley, among the homeless. An empty warehouse. A line of cardboard lean-tos. A trash fire in a barrel. Pneumonia. Infection. Starvation. Still, she was passing on information to Trask. Still, she betrayed. 

_ Ororo Munroe. Katherine Pride. Robert Drake. Jubilation Lee. James Howlett. _

Still, she made mistakes. Jubilee had lost her life because of Rogue. It had happened in the early part of this year, and a swell of newfound depression had consumed her. Her list was dwindling. Despite all she had done for Trask, her list of dwindling, and with it, her utility. The use for CIs was declining, the more powerful Trask became, the more antimutant sentiment grew. You didn’t need to quietly collect intel when you ran death camps.

She coughed hard into her hand, pulling her filthy sweater closer to her. She’d just retired for the night, when it happened. Part of her had been waiting for it. Part of her was surprised. Part of her wanted to will him out of her brain, even if she had to claw him out with her own two hands.

_ Rogue. _

_ Charles,  _ she mentally murmured, staring blankly down the alleyway, into the dark night of the city. 

_ You don’t seem surprised that I have made contact with you. _

_ No,  _ she mentally murmured, bringing her head to her hand, clutching it in pain.  _ What do you want?  _

_ We know what Trask has done to you, what they have made you do. But we may have found a path toward your own redemption. _

_ I’m beyond help.  _

_ No one is ever beyond help, my dear,  _ she heard the kind man whisper in her mind, and she bitterly shook her head in protest. 

_ I’ve murdered too many. _

_ You have murdered thousands, but most not directly. And none by choice. It was never a choice. _

She’d let him talk then. Listened quietly as Xavier explained the plan carefully, with precision.

_ You want me to kill Hank. _

_ No. I want you to ensure Hank does not die in vain,  _ he trailed off. She frowned, turning onto her side in the small cot. 

_ Professor...why now? Why, only now, do you find me? Rescue me? _

_ We only recently have come together again, as a team. Storm, myself. Erik. Even Logan now. _

Rogue frowned deeply and shook her head. 

_ That’s not why you waited. I wasn’t useful before. Now, I am. _

_ I will not sugarcoat it for you, my dear. You are correct.  _

_ You need me because of the plans, to extract them, so now is my time, over anyone else. _

_ Yes.  _

_ And you need me to act as a double agent, so you dig up everything on Trask, without them knowing.  _

_ Yes.  _

Neither mutant said anything for a long moment, until Charles added,  _ it was not personal, Rogue.  _

_ It never is, is it, Charles?  _

_ Not now, no, Rogue. Not with this many lives at stake. So, do we have a deal?  _

He waited for her to answer, and she found that she, too, was waiting. 

_ So do we have a deal?  _ Charles pressed. Finally, Rogue spoke. 

_ You’re using me, same as them. _

_ Yes. But the difference is we ask you, and do not coerce you by murdering members of your family or your friends.  _

She said nothing for long moments, her mind toiling with the weight of the decision. If she was caught, everyone, not just some of them, would die. But this, however slight, was it. Her only hope. Her chance.

_ Rogue? _

And then, she responded.

_ What do I need to do? _

** _Cape Town, South Africa_ **

Marie sighed, closing her eyes tiredly as she slipped out of Charles’ room. The sessions were long and grueling, as Charles extracted years of data, anything she had on Transigen or Trask. Afterward, Marie always felt empty, like almost floating, and the only way to deal with this, in her experience, was to  _ make  _ herself weightless. To forget.

_ The fire threw wild, orange light into the study, casting flickering shadows about the room. _

_ “You still don’t understand, do you, my dear? If they suspect you, it’s over. If I don’t die, they all will,” Hank had told her, staring her in the eye. _

She shuddered a bit, and dressed quickly for the pool in her room, looking out both ways before slipping into the hallway. The last thing she needed was to run into Logan again. She didn’t want to spar, and she didn’t want to talk. She wanted to float, to sink,  _ something.  _ Luckily, she didn’t run into anyone as she finally made her way to the pool, and she slipped into the still water silently, letting it flow over her skin.

_ A grandfather clock was roaring in her ears. Branches on fire scorched her nose. Just then, the click of a door, the heavy weight of his shoes in the dry grass, his face calm and resolute. And then, the swarm. The sounds of blades, bats, guns, ropes, the entire bloody procession. _

Rogue closed her eyes, forcing the memory back down, and began to swim laps quickly breaking from the surface to suck in breaths as she cut through the water. It was rhythmic, steady and slow.  _ Swim, breathe, under, up. Swim, breathe, under, up.  _ She kept up the laps, letting the water envelope her, as her mind recalled the whirlwind of the last few weeks, no matter how she tried to stop it. 

_ She’d been momentarily stunned when she had walked off the jet, still getting used to it all. He was standing there, in all black, arms folded tight across his chest as he watched her closely with narrow eyes. Had she not seen so much strange shit in the past few years, his appearance would have taken her aback. He looked the same. God, he looked  _ exactly  _ the same.  _

_ She mustered all her strength as she walked off that jet, giving him a curt nod. He seemed to be struggling with something- _ probably revising the way I look in his mind, _ she thought--and then she was speaking to a man she once knew, but knew no longer. _

_ “Logan,” she offered him, stopping a few paces short of him, again giving him the once over. _

_ “Hey, Rogue,” he said, and she was perturbed by his smile, his ability to be so nonchalant.  _ Why was he smiling? There was nothing to smile about. Not anymore.

_ “You’re...the same,” she finally said. “Of course you’re the same,” she added, meaning it in every way possible. He looked mildly uncomfortable about this, anyone would if another had so blatantly pointed out their mutation in this political climate, stamping one boot in the Mexican dirt.  _

_ “Yeah, well,” he grumbled. “Hasn’t been that long.”  _

_ She merely stared at him.  _ How many sleepless nights? How many killed, or worse, tortured before her eyes, some by her own hand? How many children… dead?

_ “Long enough,” she retorted and brushed past him. _

_ And then, after his temper tantrum in the bunker in front of Charles, she had stumbled on him again when things were more quiet, her own temper cooled, too. He was half-way through a bottle of tequila, and Rogue found she couldn’t begin to criticize his choice of hobby. The world was burning. They all deserved a drink. _

_ “You need something?” he grumbled, unceremoniously tipping the bottle to his lips once more. _

_ “No,” she said. Why had she come back here? She had sensed him still awake, even though Storm had long since gone to bed. But it had been too quiet underground, so far away from the sounds of the city. From the muggings and police sirens. From the running. From the stale bread and begging hands. From the chaos. Slowly, she sat down opposite him at the table, and studied him for a moment. He was in a wifebeater and cargo pants, and it was obvious he was suffering a quiet distress. Over her or the recent events of the world, she couldn’t be sure. For some reason, she was never sure when it came to him.  _

_ Meanwhile, he was tipping the bottle toward her as a small peace offering, but she shook her head. She needed to think clearly. _

_ “It looks good. I would, but...not now,” she said, careful to acknowledge the gesture of goodwill while still politely declining. He smiled a little at her, the first time since she’d seen him again, and her heart shuddered slightly. Years, she’d lived with his voice, but the sight of him...that was different. _

_ “Suit yerself,” her murmured, knocking back the bottle of tequila once more.  _

_ “Charles told me you were in Japan,’” Rogue said, trying to muster up at least the semblance of conversation, and she was surprised to see he took the bait. _

_ “Home for a while first, then Japan. Tokyo for a bit, but Nagasaki, mostly,” Logan responded, his words running together just the slightest bit. She noticed his inebriation, and smiled a little. It took  _ so much  _ for this man to get drunk. She remembered that about him. Had the memories to prove it, too. _

_ “Japan… that’s a bit different for you,” she said, her voice even as she tried to visualize him there. Logan, bowing? Logan, visibly respecting authority? Logan, assimilating into a culture so different from his own?  _

_ “Yeah well, at first it wasn’t voluntary,” he murmured, looking at her. “Then, it was.”  _

_ Rogue furrowed her brows, wondering what he meant by this, and let it go. So he’d been on the lam for years, then, she realized quickly. Maybe an entire decade.  _

_ “Were you there, then, in Japan, when the school…?” Rogue began, and it took him longer than Rogue would have thought to answer.  _

_ “No. Not yet. But I was by the time I found out about it a few years later,” he said, a little sloppily, and her anger bloomed. She could maybe forgive him if he had been overseas, but he hadn’t heard about it in Canada? Where had he been living? On the side of an Alberta mountain top?  _

They needed you,  _ she thought, rather viscously.  _ We all did. 

_ And then, he was talking once more, pressing her.  _

_ “Why aren’t you telling them everything, Rogue?” he asked out of the blue. Rogue looked up to the man sharply, trying to think quickly on her feet. Charles had explicitly stated only Xavier himself was to know about her history with Transigen and by proxy Trask, to keep up the ruse, and to lie to everyone else, no matter what Wolverine picked up on in terms of scent. Charles had warned her, too, that Logan especially would be suspicious, with as much as his nose and previous affection for her could potentially set him off. But under no circumstances was she to divulge information. Too much hung in the balance. This was bigger than petty fights, old flames. It was bigger than them both. It was bigger than them all. _

_ “I’m telling the truth,” she partially lied. He was truly drunk now, would be for a few whole minutes guessing from the slurring of his words and the slowness of his movements, and she chose in that moment to  _ slightly  _ forgive him his sloppy interrogation tactics, the goddamn hypocrite. How long had he been working for Charles again anyway after his years-long vacation? Five, six months... at most? _

_ “And Charles would know if I wasn’t,” she added for good measure. _

_ “Half-truths,” Logan suggested, once more tipping the bottle in her direction for dramatic effect, and her anger doubled as she stared at the man who she suspected was old enough to be her great-great-great grandfather, and who quite honestly  _ should know _ fucking better by now.  _

_ “You don’t have the first clue about what’s been happening,” she hissed, staring at him evenly. “You haven’t been around long enough to know.” _

_ “Haven’t seen you hanging around the X-Men either, Rogue,” he was saying, and suddenly she was dangerously close to either punching him or letting something slip. She stood out of frustration, about to walk away, when he followed, the bastard, blocking her way out. “And I’ve been around long enough. In fact, too fucking long. A long fucking damn time, and I know when someone gets sloppy. Hank is  _ dead _ .” _

_ The biting truth of his words rang out in her mind. Suddenly she was there, Hank’s memories coursing through her, the jeers and shouts and sounds of Hank being ripped apart roaring in her ears. She said nothing, barely holding it together, as he kept talking. _

_ “That’s it, isn’t it?” he was rambling. “Somebody fucked up. Somebody on your team fucked up, and Hank paid the cost.” _

_ “You weren’t there,” she barely ground out, finally choosing to look him in the eye, a direct challenge for a feral like him. _

_ “Hank was our last contact up north. You could have been here, helping us, but somehow, you thought you couldn’t contact us, contact me, before this fucking moment? Before-” _

_ “You weren’t  _ there _ ,” she snarled, stepping into his space, provoking the animal, staring up at a man a foot taller than her, all muscle, hair untamed, eyes fiery. He wasn’t afraid of her skin, but she wasn’t afraid of his wildness. This stupid, brute of a man, who long ago she thought she had loved. Whose voice had haunted her for years after. Who she’d given up so much for. All for nothing.  _

_ They stood there like that, centimeters away from each other. She could tell he was taking in her scent, and she hoped it tormented him like hell. But then, something in his stance fell, and he retreated infinitesimally. He hadn’t moved a muscle, but something had changed, and her own bravado crumpled slightly as well as she broke her stare, too exhausted to keep up the pissing match.  _

_ “Logan…” she tried, looking around the room in exhaustion. “Things have changed. It’s not like it was.” He held her gaze though, never taking his hazel eyes off her.  _

_ “You don’t think I know that?” he asked her, and she truly wondered. Here was a man who had witnessed true change, centuries worth of it, who couldn’t see the difference a decade could make even when it was dancing right in front of his goddamn face. _

_ “I’m not sure,” she added tiredly. She thought of Jubilee, then, and something in her core quivered, her voice breaking slightly as she spoke. And then, he was closing the space between them, so close now he was practically murmuring his next words in her ear. _

_ “The world’s never been safe, kid,” he said, and then he was reaching one hand out, running a finger down a lock of her hair. She knew what he was insinuating. The torch. Their moments together, when he’d left a strong enough imprint on her his voice had returned after the cure, when all the others had subsided, even people she killed. She had been thankful for him then, but now, she regretted it. She regretted him. She regretted it all. _

_ She winced at the nickname, and just as Storm entered the room, the spell was broken. _

That was the first time. There had been other entanglements, encounters, since. Some of them harmless, like when she’d kicked his ass on the sparring mat, some of them serious, when he confirmed her suspicions about his age and just how many wars he had fought in. 

After almost an hour of hard swimming, though, she’d come up for air and noticed _ him  _ through the gym windows, a pause in his daily kata, watching her warily, as if the roles were reversed long ago, as if all of  _ her _ sorrow and grief and memories were his responsibility to sift through, and she was free to simply...exist. 

\--

“I don’t like the plan,” she said matter-of-factly, as she took another sip of her beer. She tried not to focus on the way he gripped his own bottle, the way his eyes were taking in every miniscule message she made with her body. She had been trained in the art of bluffing. Was a master at it. She had been a fucking CI for the last six years for fuck’s sake. But here he was, reading her like an open book for the last few weeks, as she struggled to stay closed.  _ Something about Logan...something about him seeing into her, almost through her... _

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ that,” Logan muttered, even though he didn’t need to.

“It feels like giving up,” she added. She didn’t understand why Charles wanted to run, to hide, even though now she had a better idea of how he had come up with the idea knowing that Logan had been in his ear about it. But the thought of fleeing, when it was the first time in over six years she was truly helping save her people, and not betraying them...well. It made her wanna destroy things. Decimate whole cities. Tear shit down. Rip it all apart.

“We haven’t even started fighting yet, Rogue,” Logan shot back, and she simply blinked at him for a moment, having to hold back a cynical laugh. All the years of torment, all the awful things she had seen.  _ Oh, sugar. If you only knew what I knew.  _

They both had started to get drunk. Around and around they went, him digging for information and she dodging the best she could. Finally, she’d grown tired of the battle, and had decided to call it a night. She had left him there like that, drinking alone in the bar with the mutants with the extreme mutations- mutants that reminded her of Oynxx and made her heart ache--and she had trudged the eight blocks back to the hotel in relative pain. Encounters with Logan always felt like that. Tumultuous. Loaded. Painful.

She cursed the God she didn’t quite believe in when she stepped into the hotel lobby and remembered that Charles had asked her to give up her room and share with the very man she was trying to get away from tonight, but she had dutifully headed to her new residence nevertheless. 

She took her time, showering carefully, with the new routine she had adopted since coming to work for Xavier. Shampoo. Conditioner. A razor. Chapstick. All of the personal hygiene products she now appreciated, practically worshipped. Recently, she was more mindful of the care and maintenance of her body, not because she respected it so much as because she hadn’t been able to have some of those luxuries in years, and she felt she was making up for lost time. After the shower ran long, so long she had steamed up the entire bathroom, frosting the windows in layers of condensation, she was slow in rubbing the lotion into her freshly shaven legs, over her abdomen, over her arms and up her neck. She put on a thin tank and loose pajama pants, and was methodical as she brushed out her wet hair, letting it air dry in the hot, dry climate of South Africa. 

An hour and a cup of chamomile tea later, she had been paging through some flight plans Storm had given her the week before, thinking of going to bed, when she finally heard drunken fumbling in the hall, someone obviously trying several different doors and growing steadily more confused about which one was his. Despite the fact she was expecting him, it still startled her, even as she tiredly rose from her bed she’d been lying on and came out of her room just in time to witness the feral man stumble into their shared living quarters from the hallway.

“Logan?” she asked, mildly concerned as she took in the sight of him. Hair mussed, eyes uneven and unfocused. He looked tired, older, even from this afternoon. So unlike that man with the cocky stride she had fallen early on for. Tonight had him almost looking... _ human.  _ Not like an idol, certainly not like a god, not even like an animal, but like a man. A tired, bewildered man finally trying. Trying, at last, to get it  _ right.  _

Well, maybe not on  _ this  _ particular night. More like in general.

“Yeah?” he mumbled a drunken response, swaying on the spot as he did so. He was outwardly ogling her through her thin top, but she was too damn tired to care. He was a man, probably sex-starved as of late. And she had enough of his memories to know that was a  _ big  _ fucking deal for him.  _ Let him look,  _ she thought idly, savoring the sudden rush of power her newfound apathy had won her.

“You ok?” she finally asked, softening a little as she assessed his state of mind, deciding to walk over toward him. The closer she got, the more worried she became that, maybe for the first time in his ridiculously coordinated life, he might actually lose his balance and fall over.

“You were with someone, weren’t you?” he asked bluntly, and she stopped being concerned for his wellbeing and jerked her head upward to look him dead in the eye at his candor.

“Excuse me?” she hissed, knowing where this was going and hating it all the same. He hadn’t earned the right yet to ask her questions like this, questions so personal in nature, and he fucking knew it. 

“After the cure?” Logan tried to clarify. They stood like that for a moment, still in the dark, only a few paces between them. Just then, an old memory of his bombarded her brain, one she used to dream about, over a lifetime ago.

_ “I’m gonna fuck you until morning, baby,” he snarled into her ear, hand roughly cupping a breast before taking a nipple into his mouth. _

_ “You better, if you wanna keep this gig,” the woman teased, and he snarled, before dipping a hand lower, between her legs.  _

_ “Spendin’ yer father’s money? Fucking his daughter right under his goddamn nose?” he grinned. One finger inside her. Two. She was wet, warm, ready again. _

_ “Yeah, sure. Long as you keep your promise,” she said through a breath as he rolled a thumb over her clit, and he smirked. _

Henry had never been like that, and he was the only person she’d had sex with. Sure, she’d messed around with men and women early on, to the point where she doubted she was _completely _straight, but it didn’t surprise her she’d ended up with a man, considering her long lasting feelings for Logan. Although that particular man had been more careful, softer, than she had imagined from someone who was offering her body pleasure. He’d been distinct and mindful, almost too much so occasionally. Sometimes, she’d wanted more from the patient man, but she’d never asked for it, wasn’t quite sure _how _to back then. Meanwhile, she’d dreamt of what it might have been like to be with Logan, from the dozens of memories of sexual encounters she’d inherited from him. It was rough, maybe, but also..._more. _She had imagined more, at least, especially when more wasn’t possible. Meanwhile, the man before her was waiting for an answer. Rogue frowned.

_ You were with someone, weren’t you? After the cure? _

“Yes,” she finally admitted tiredly, and she practically saw him visibly flinch at the notion. “I was. Not that that’s any of your business,” she added stubbornly, now crossing her arms, staring at the drunken mess that was her former mentor, growing impatient.  _ Where was he going with this? _

“But it wasn’t that ice prick,” Logan said through a growl. He was stalking about the room now like a goddamn caged tiger, and she suddenly wished he would stop. Usually, she was patient with Logan’s animalistic tendencies, but tonight, as exacerbated as they were due to drink, there was no patience to be found for him. Meanwhile, he kept at it. “And it wasn’t about being touched. It was about somethin’ else, somethin’ real.”

Her mouth fell open at this particular remark, but she shut it quickly. Her brows were furrowed now, as she tried to figure out  _ how  _ he’d know anything about that.  _ Does he assume that I would have a deep connection with the one person I was with? Did his senses tell him that much?  _ Had her scent...changed somehow? From... losing her virginity? Falling in love? Or even...god forbid...from conceiving?

_ God, please never let him find out about that,  _ she sent up a silent prayer in the dark.

“I-” she began, before stopping. She wouldn’t tell him. Wouldn’t give him anything. He didn’t deserve it; not this version of the man who stood before her. Maybe the voice in her mind that had long since faded, that presence who had been by her side through the worst of it, but not this man. Not him. 

“But it’s not part of the reason you fucked up, is it?” Logan continued, and his accuracy was again impressive, too good. He was close, now, was too close to something she wouldn’t be able to come back from. Instantly, images were flashing across her mind, depictions of scenes long since locked away...

_ “See, so you attach each rib onto the spar of the plane with this specialty glue. Balsa wood is best for this kind of application, mind you, and...presto!” he stated proudly, staring at the P-51 Mustang’s wing with a fervent affinity, before looking to Rogue for praise. _

_ “Very...cool,” she finally said, smiling apologetically from behind her book, growing mildly bored with his explanation twenty minutes ago, let alone now, as he finally realized this and sighed.  _

_ “You don’t have to like it. I know I’m a dork,” Henry admitted, setting down the glue, finally taking off his magnifiers attached to his glasses. _

_ “Hey, leave those on,” she teased, and he looked at her, a little dumbfounded. _

_ “What? Why?” he asked, and she grinned. _

_ “They’re sexy,” she said honestly, and he laughed before stepping over to her and kissing her cheek. _

“Fuck.  _ Fuck _ ,” meanwhile Logan was concurrently growling, and she shook her head to get out of the memory, frowning at the older mutant once more. 

“ _ What _ ?” Marie shot back, growing tired of his whining, the way he circled around the issue but never  _ landed  _ on any sort of real truth about either of them. She thought the booze would have helped him resolve his feelings, or get to the bottom of things, or-

“I hate,  _ fucking hate,  _ that someone else put his hands on you first,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. That got her attention. She looked up to him quickly, trying to get his meaning as she processed this new information. _ Is he saying….What is he saying, exactly? _

“What?” Rogue was asking softly, her voice barely above whisper. Mentor, friend, maybe even father figure. Never had he made a move on her. It wasn’t that he wasn’t afraid to touch her, either. A friendly hug or clap on the shoulder was to be expected, but he’d always been stuck on Jean. Either he was pining after Jean while Scott was in the picture or Jean had just died in one way or another and he was grieving her loss. Never had he suggested that he and Rogue could be more. Not once. Except for maybe...that night he dragged her to the bar in Westchester and she watched him cage fight? No. Not even then. He’d fucked a random woman in an alley, finishing mere seconds before Rouge had stepped outside. He had said something about how it “had to be how it was,” lent her his leather jacket afterward because she’d left hers behind in the bar, and had driven her home, a chaste and gloved handshake his only physical apology to her for his sloppy behavior that night.

“You heard me, Marie,” he said, and she frowned.

“But I thought….Jean…” Rogue whispered, and she watched him growl in frustration once more. 

“Yeah, Jean.  _ Jean. _ She was there, she was beautiful, and you were too young back then, for me to….to do what I wanted.”

“What you… wanted?” Rogue asked, her eyes narrowing, even as her body responded, heating up involuntarily, most likely due to the hundreds of times she had touched herself with  _ his  _ memories for fodder. 

_ I’m gonna fuck you until morning, baby.  _

“Yeah,” he growled possessively, and Rogue closed her eyes to refocus, ignoring the shiver that shot down her spine. He was lying. Or embellishing. He had to be. Because if he was telling the truth,  _ oh god.  _ If he was telling the truth…

“I was deadly then, like now. I would have dropped you to the floor,” she said bitterly, trying to ground herself, find her composure.  _ He’s not fucking Superman. He wouldn't have been able to save you. You’re both all wrong for each other, anyway, especially back then. You would have still ended up in a ditch, empty-handed, at the mercy of Transigen,  _ she thought _ .  _ It seemed her destiny, anyway. Her one purpose in life.

“Like I fucking  _ care _ about that,” Logan muttered, and she realized he was closing the space between them.

“You  _ should _ ,” she whispered, attempting to step back from Logan to look him seriously in the eye, but then he stepped forward, close, so close she could feel the heat coming off him, smell the whiskey on his breath. Her body responded, a fire licking its way through her belly again, as her worry, her sorrow, her  _ regret _ , was temporarily suspended. 

“Don’t go playing the victim card,” he was saying, and she looked at him for a moment like he might have lost his mind.  _ The victim card.  _ As if she had a choice. As if she had any other card in her hand to play.  _ He has no clue. He has no fucking clue. _

“There are ways around it,” he pressed on, and then her brain was fuzzy again, his proximity playing tricks on her as they shared the same air. He was dangerously close to her now, and she could practically feel her body salivate, thirsty for touch, thirsty to drink someone else in. Anyone. Even him. She was thirsty for other things, too. “You know there are. And I swear  _ to God  _ I would’ve found a way, Marie, had I wised up enough to have found the fucking chance.”

Her thoughts were pinging back and forth, her feelings a mixture of arousal and shock and anger.

_ You goddamn idiot,  _ she thought wildly as she stared at him.  _ Then why  _ didn’t  _ you, Logan? Why didn’t you fucking  _ do  _ something?  _ Anything _ ?  _

Then, he was swaying on the spot, and she remembered he’d probably consumed a barrel or more of whiskey. She exhaled out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, finally reaching out with her gloved hands to steady him.

“Easy there,” she whispered, confused, enraged, aroused, tormented by the man in front of her. He then was looking down at her gloves, thumbing them between two calloused fingers. 

“You don’t need these ‘round me,” he mumbled at the gloves, and she shook her head slightly, realizing she still had not let go of him. She was practically clinging to him at this point, and she frowned and blinked a few times to free herself from his intoxicating pull.

“Yes, I do. Or do you not remember what happened last time we touched?” she whispered to him.  _ The torch, sugar. You almost died for me. Back then, that meant something. It meant everything. _

Logan only frowned for a moment, obviously still woozy, and she managed to finally get her wits about her enough to say, “Let’s get you to bed, sugar. You could use the sleep.” 

But he was stopping, pulling her back when she was trying to pull him forward, murmuring a “hey” from the obstinate spot where he had planted his feet, still clutching her gloved hand tightly.

“Hey what?” she asked tiredly, turning back to him.

“This guy you...knew. Did he care for you? Look after you?” Logan asked, an honest, pure note suddenly in his voice. She stared at him for a moment, lost, flashes of memory, of joy and laughter, of late nights, of blood and death and warmth and cold, filled her mind. She thought of things she never allowed herself to think about. She thought of Carmen. She thought of Skittles. She thought of her naiveté and willful ignorance. She thought of Henry. 

“I thought he did. Or, he did for a time, and then he didn’t,” she murmured, the closest thing to the truth she could stand to say, and, perhaps, for the first time since they had met, that was enough.

  
  


** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, October 2015_ **

** _The Underground Bunker, Undisclosed Location, Alberta, Canada_ **

For long periods of time, she wasn’t sure who she was. It had been  _ so much  _ more than last time, and she obviously knew why. His life had been unlocked, and when, once again, he touched her bare skin to save her, she almost wished he hadn’t. Not because of the onslaught of memories she was now working through, one by one, but because, now, she knew she couldn’t go back. She could never go back. The only way was forward, through the pain, through the heartache. No more living in shadows, no more pining for a life she wanted, but could not seize. No more. 

Charles had told her of Two Rivers, of the opportunity someone in her position might afford them. If they could get Smithfield there, if they could create an aggregate of the north American division of Trask, put most of them in one place, Charles might be able to use heavy artillery to take more than just a few important higher ups out, and that was something. And so, between his stints of helping Rogue once more work her way through the cloud of Logan’s likeness and memories and feelings and thoughts that had settled like a heavy fog in her brain, they began planning. Planning to betray, one more time. Planning to save lives, for Rogue, for the first time. And planning to kill, for all of them, for the hundredth time over. 

Logan didn’t know about Two Rivers, at least not about the details, not yet. Besides, he was otherwise distracted, as much as he had worried himself into a frenzy over her and the fact that she had absorbed him again, which she found mildly ridiculous. She had taken comfort in some of it--now she knew she wasn’t  _ crazy  _ for reliving memories that were over a hundred years old-- and, of course, a familiar voice had rejoined her in her mind, which she chose, despite the real Logan’s jealousy, to keep around.

_ Hello again,  _ she had said to him when she had felt him listening, watching during one of the first mental work sessions with Xavier.

_ Marie,  _ he murmured. 

_ Do I have to fill you in, or do you remember the past we shared?  _ She asked quietly that first day.

_ I remember. Trask. Transigen. Henry. Skittles...everything... _ he trailed off, and when he sensed her sadness at his reminder, he added,  _ Unlike the real life bozo. Jeez. What’s a guy gotta do to get a drink of whiskey around here to deal with this neurotic asshole?  _

She smiled faintly at this and whispered out loud, “I managed to pilfer three of his cigars for you. I hate them, but I’ll smoke them later for you anyway.” At that, she heard him chuckle in her mind. 

_ Damn, kid. I owe ya,  _ he said, and she smiled to herself again.

_ I’ve missed you. I could have used you around for some of the worst of it, during the later years.  _

_ I know, Marie. And I’m sorry,  _ he sighed, before adding, _ think of me...like a plant in yer brain that needed a little waterin’. Anyway, this time around I got a lotta Miracle-Gro dumped on me, so y guess is I’ll be here for a long while, kid. If you’ll have me _

_ Of course,  _ she had said simply, and that was that. 

\--

A few weeks passed in relative peace as the snow started falling and the missions dwindled. The underground bunker, however, also grew colder, and as it did the team grew more restless. Rogue had, for the most part, dealt with Logan’s memories-- _ god, it took a long time to even halfway undress a woman in 1860; it took me only a few seconds when I made out with Carmen’s roommate in the alley behind Rave in 2007 -- _ and now they were trying to assimilate to life underground. The cold though, Rogue could not tolerate, not without denouncing her southern core, and she had spent the last few days under a heap of blankets, moaning and complaining, soaking in the drama of it all. The real Logan was inclined to go out for long walks in the snow-- _ the fucking masochist,  _ Rogue had inwardly muttered, much to a snicker from inner Logan--while Rogue often told him to “fuck off,” especially when he joked about his healing factor waning within her if she was that susceptible to the cold.

During the day, often Logan and Storm were scouting, most recently returning over and over again to the Two Rivers area in order to assemble an accurate blueprint of the facility. During these times, Rogue often retreated inward for hours, until she was drawn back out of herself, always by the real Logan. He’d often invite her to eat in the “chow hall,” which was only a ten by ten room with a microwave and a metal shelf stocked with canned goods, and they would talk for a while, sometimes about their shared past, sometimes about the present. Never about the gap, though, the period of time which Rogue had taken to calling when she had been at Trask’s mercy, thoroughly alone. 

“You kids and those goddamn boy bands _ , _ ” Logan had reminisced one day, and she rolled her eyes. 

“I hated boy bands. Give me a Nirvana album instead any day of the week”

“ _ You _ liked Nirvana?” He scoffed at her, barely believing his ears.

“ _ Like _ Nirvana. As in present tense. Just because I have no way to listen to them now doesn’t mean my taste in music goes to shit. You know...the going theory was that Kurt Cobain was a mutant.”

At that, Logan had snorted in skepticism. “I thought that poor fucker had stomach issues that drove him insane and that’s how he killed himself.”

“They think he had Crohn’s disease, yes. But...in regard to his music. They think he was...musically gifted beyond...what’s normal. I read it in a history textbook for a class you were supposed to be teaching but you kept skipping out on and Scott took over for. Pop Mutant Culture of the 20th Century? Ring a bell?”

“Hrmmph,” is all he had responded with that day. 

No matter their ultimately harmless disagreements, though, time passed, and she came to know the man in front of her as who he was now, instead of for who he had been. And it was interesting, because he was now complete somehow in a way he hadn’t been before. Wiser, even if he was still occasionally temperamental. More cautious, even if he was sometimes overly crass.

“Goddamnit, Rogue. I told ya to punch me!” He shouted at her from the old, fraying sparring mat they set up in the living room area every morning. 

“There’s nowhere for you to go but straight through that wall, sugar, and I am not going to be the one responsible for cavin’ this place in because your adamantium-laced ass is too damn heavy!”

Another week passed, then another. And one day, after a particularly grueling mental session with Charles, she had decided on a little self-care, dystopian-future style, which meant she parked herself on the mattress of the so-called living room of the bunker that housed the coffee pot and the record player, listening to crappy jazz music from the poor selection of records and drinking lukewarm coffee from a chipped ceramic mug advertising the 1997 Estevan Summer Music Festival, although the temperature of the coffee was only her fault, as she had been too lazy to go over to the machine and make more. . 

She’d heard him before she saw him, his good senses still often available to her enough to detect eavesdropping when she felt it. He was lingering outside the entryway, and, finally, she’d invited him to come and sit with her. He seemed tired, but still careful with how he acted in front of her, and not for the first time in her life she wished he would relax. She smiled a bit as she took in the sight of him, still adorned in military-grade combat gear. He kept his hair cropped shorter now, even though she delighted in the fact that it managed to still stick up on the ends, as she regaled him with some of the things about the real world she missed most. 

“You know what I want more than anything right now?” she asked, and he turned to her from his spot on the mattress, now curious.

“What’s that, kid?” he asked, a small smile on his face. 

“A Big Mac,” she said through a sad laugh. “I haven’t had one in…god. Years. A Big Mac and all the McDonalds fries I can eat,” she said, and he chuckled a bit in response. At this distance, she could feel the heat radiating off of him, and it felt good.  _ Right.  _

They made small talk for a few minutes until he seemed to realize that, despite the heat he was letting off, she was still shivering. 

“Rogue….” Logan muttered, and she looked at him hesitantly.

“Yer killin’ me, kid. Don’t…make it more than...fuck...just c’mere. Healing factor should be worth something,” he muttered, and reached for her, pulling her close to his body, so close she  _ swore  _ he had touched her, but he hadn’t. Logan was aware enough of his own body and perceptive enough of space to keep them both comfortable and in his or her own brain and still keeping the pull at bay, while still feeling incredibly close.

“Hell,” she muttered involuntarily, breathing into him, her back leaning against his broad chest. Inner Logan had gone quiet--he always did when she was with the man, it seemed--and she didn’t seem to care about anything else as her shivering subsided and she finally murmured, “You _ are _ warm.” 

She could still feel his anxiety pulse through him, though. She could tell he wasn’t sure how to hold her, how to get it right, and she instinctively was taking his ungloved hand in her gloved one, pulling it around her thin shoulders so he enveloped her frame. He leaned into her instinctively then, as she gave in to the urge to massage his hands, the left and then the right, knowing full well about the phantom pain in his knuckles that came from using the claws so often. She knew about it all. How often the pain plagued him, always more in his left than his right. The sensitive spots and where they were. How a single touch there could turn him on, or off, with the slightest give or addition of pressure. Now, from his memories she had acquired alone, she pressed between the grooves of his warm hands, working out the kinks, harboring him and reveling in the quiet comfort she provided for them both.

She knew, now. She knew how he felt. Had known it since that day in South Africa, when she had absorbed him. She now understood the layers of it fully, the complexity behind his feelings. The pining early on, the self-shaming when his conscious mind would take over and remind himself she was too young. How he tried to fill the unfillable hole in his heart with the unobtainable Jean, a way to stay miserable, contaminating the open wounds of trauma with the infection of self-contempt. And, later, the rekindling. The curiosity about who Marie had become as an adult, the cloying questions he still had about her fidelity to Charles, to the cause. And...she also had sensed...the need to protect her. The sort of need that only came when you loved a person fiercely. He loved her, maybe always had. She knew that now. 

“Listen, kid...this thing between us-” he was stammering, his voice rough and deep as he struggled to form words, but she only shushed him, unwilling to break the spell. She knew. And there would come a time, a time soon, when he would know she knew, and he would know it back, too.

_ I love you, fiercely. _

“Shh,” Rogue said, turning to stare up at him for a moment.

“Kid-” he began again, but then she was placing two gloved fingers to his lips, and he stopped talking, a childlike look of surprise playing on the lines of his face at how close she was willing to let herself be to him and for the motherly gesture she had chosen to silence him.

“Soon,” she murmured, and he only cocked an eyebrow in that signature way, a small knowing smile playing on his lips, before she changed the subject on him.

“Hey,” she said, and he looked at her with a question in his eyes.

“You're in the habit of keeping me warm, you know that?” she whispered to him, and he snorted. 

“Am I?” he asked, and her smile widened

“Do you remember…” she trailed off, still leaning into this warm body as she summoned up an old memory. “I think you might have been  _ chaperoning  _ or something….because before you left the first time, I ran into you at the  _ homecoming dance, _ ” she drifted off, and she could feel the realization also blossom within him as he recalled the memory they shared the normal way, he recalling his version and she recalling hers. 

“You all pretty in that midnight blue dress. Still jailbait, but lookin’ far older than what was good fer ya,” he chuckled, the sound of his laughter deep and rich in his chest, and she found herself blushing just slightly at the thought of Logan thinking of her like that, especially early on. 

“I thought you were  _ annoyed  _ by me,” she began, and he stared at her incredulously, forcing her back a bit to get a better look at her. 

“ _ What?! Hell  _ no, kid. What made ya think that?” he tried, before she interrupted his interruption.

“ _ If you’d let me finish…”  _ she began again, to another laugh from him. “I was frustrated, probably about some stupid teenager shit, and I was flustered, still dealing with  _ you  _ and  _ your senses _ , and I went outside, only to bump into the person who had caused all this trouble in the first place,” she said through a smile, which he returned.

“I believe I recall the fact that I _told _ya I was headed out there, kid,” he said, and she shook her head, pressing on.

“OK, but, I genuinely forgot you were out there. Cross my heart. And we were talking, about the dance, mostly, and the stars, too, and, that night, you lent me your jacket for a few minutes so we could finish our conversation,” she said through a grin. “I had the scent of you in my nose for  _ weeks  _ after you left.” 

At this, however, Logan frowned a little, growling as he collected her in his arms once more, and she realized he didn’t like how that particular story ended. 

“Shoulda never left, kid,” he finally muttered, squeezing her gloved hand tightly, and she said nothing, because, deep down, she knew it was the truth.

They had parted ways that night, awkwardly. She had squeezed his hand again through gloved fingers, he had cleared his throat, and then they had found their own rooms, separately. It wasn’t until a long while afterward, but eventually, inner Logan spoke up.

_ Fucker’s a coward, fer not kissin’ ya,  _ he said, and, even in her exhaustion, she smiled widely. 

_ I told him to wait,  _ she said.  _ And he had just enough patience and just enough chivalry to listen for once.  _

Inwardly though, inner Logan only continued to grumble.

_ Goddamn sonofabitch’s still a coward. Shoulda laid one on ya long ago. _

_ You know you’re technically talking about yourself, right? Especially if you’re talking about things you should have done in the past?  _ She playfully asked him, and he muttered something about “ _ fuckin’ crazy doppelgangers, not a fuckin’ facsimile of that lame ass” _ before once more falling silent. 

_ Goodnight, Logan,  _ she whispered to him still, just as she was falling into the throes of sleep. A moment’s pause, and then…

_ Goodnight, Marie,  _ he grumbled, much to her quiet, sleepy sigh of satisfaction.

\--

The next day, on a rare day off, she was once again shivering under a pile of blankets, trying to put off inner Logan’s constant insistence to play him in chess for the twentieth time, in which she would surely lose once more.  _ I told ya kid, attack the middle game and lose pieces wisely! We can work on this!  _ Just as inner Logan promised he wouldn’t cheat by reading her mind, the real life version had stomped into the living room, looking like a man on a mission. He was grinning ear to ear, and it was that sort of cocky, overly enthusiastic grin on his too-handsome face she sorta wanted to slap off him. Or kiss off him. One of those two.

“Wanna go on a walk?” he asked her, and she frowned deeply.

“What? Out there?” Marie asked, pointing upward to the surface of the earth, looking mildly disgusted at the thought. There had to be at least two feet of snow outside, from the last time she’d been out. Granted it had been on fewer occasions than he and Storm, but still.

“It’s not like its literal hell outside, Marie. It’s just snow,” Logan pressed, but Rogue retorted with a crisp, comeback of “Tell that to Dante and his ninth circle.” 

Still though, after a little more nagging and a promise to help bundle her up that sounded appealing to Rogue, if only for the potential closeness to Logan that the process would offer, which he did deliver on, a half hour later they were walking in the brilliant white expanse of snow, the mountains dwarfing them in the distance. She felt slightly juvenile as she trailed behind Logan, her smaller feet settling into the footprints he had already carved out of the icy drifts with his much-larger boots.

But the air was sharp and wild, and even though she was  _ still  _ cold, she watched in awe at  _ life  _ around them. A cardinal’s call. The trickling of a nearby stream. Even the sound of the wind as it sang through the valley. As she let out one steamy breath and watched as he did the same, she even found herself appreciating Logan’s fairly pale skin flush slightly some places from the low temperature. He actually had a scarf and winter gloves on right now, a rare sight to behold on Logan, and his disposition was cheery edging on  _ jolly.  _ It was a disconcerting feeling somewhat, but Rouge found herself leaning into it nevertheless, holding on to every infectious moment.

They walked for about a half of a mile or so in a quiet sort of peace, Logan helping her over rocks and sticks and other various obstacles, bringing out a rarer more gentleman-like side of him, the side she’d seen from the older, more antiquated memories. She could tell he was still a bit surprised to learn she was still clumsy, despite her acquired super strength.  _ We gotta work on yer coordination during the next sparring’ session, kid. This is goddamn ridiculous,  _ he pretended to complain, even though she  _ knew  _ he was savoring each trip, each stumble because every time she would fall she would fall  _ into  _ him. He was always where she was, or where she was going to be. He could anticipate that, apparently, and the pace of his heartbeat would increase a few ticks every time it happened, alongside her own. And as they cleared another foothill, and the view opened up once more to showcase the snowy pines and winding creek that carved a path between the mountains, she simply was forced to admire everything again, until she added, out of the blue, “So you grew up somewhere out here?” 

She had a few of his childhood memories. Memories of toboggans and what the Canadians called  _ toques  _ and a childhood friend named Rose. Rogue also had memories from the animal, memories of hunger, half-way starving after his escape from Stryker, living animalistically off the land. Both times, he’d been reborn, all out here, among the Canadian wilderness. 

For a while, he remained silent, until he finally responded. 

“It is strange being back here with you. In this place,” Logan offered.

“Where we met,” Rogue immediately retorted through a devilish grin. That got him, as he turned back around to playfully respond in a verbal sparring match

“Yeah, you a little spitfire trying to get me to cart you around, headed God knows where-” he began, until she interrupted.

“Didn’t see you objectin’ all that much, in the end-” she playfully offered, and he threw her the most adorable truly insulted pout she had ever seen on his face. 

_ Jesus christ. Give me a fuckin’ break,  _ inner Logan muttered at the saccharine nature of their banter, but Rogue only mentally shushed him, before focusing on the real thing. 

“Like you left me much of a choice,” Logan was saying, turning to face her head on, and then she felt herself smiling as she noticed it, just barely, as it caught the sunlight. Something that shouldn’t be there, that  _ couldn’t  _ be there, but was obvious as this day was clear. 

“What?” Logan asked, a note of paranoia growing in his voice.

Then, her hand was magnetized to him as she stepped forward and gracefully and nimbly ran a gloved hand through his hair, along the temple. 

_ Gray in his hair.  _ He was obviously put off by it, his vanity fairly in check but still relatively wounded, as he was basically a man that stayed perpetually flawless decade after decade. Then, however, the conversation turned more honest as they once again discussed her pulling him in Cape Town. She tried to console him, convince him she was alright,  _ really,  _ and then, a wild idea struck her, and she simply stared at him once more and told him a bit about his life.  _ You loved ‘Let It Be.’ I know, I know. You hated the Beatles, but you love that song. You hated the smell of turpentine, but loved the smell of diesel exhaust, probably from being on the road so much. Ooh! And also the smell of freshly-opened Polaroid film, the only kind of pictures you liked to take. Instant gratification. Sounds like you. Heh. You also looked remarkably good in a bowler hat, on the rare occasion you had to wear one, and...Logan...listen to me. You couldn’t save that little boy. The one in Vietnam. _

_ Skin slippin’ off like a glove. The sky spitting an orange, toxic rain.  _ The memory momentarily tore through them both. 

“It’s really fucked up that you know about that,” he finally said after some silence, and she simply looked at him, feeling the pity, the honesty, the truth, radiate around them both. No bullshit, no lies, no games. Not anymore. Not as far as she could help it. 

“I know,” she whispered empathetically. 

“And I still don’t have shit on you,” she heard him murmur, and then she was dangerously close to the past once more, to all the ways she had betrayed her kind, to all the people she had hurt. It was then she felt the drug that was numbing it all right now, the opiate that was Logan’s presence in her mind and his preacher by her side, falter slightly in its ability to drown out all the rest.

_ Nothing erases it. No matter what I do, it persists... I can’t undo it.  _

_ No one’s asking you to undo anything, kid. You can’t erase it. The pain. No one can. Instead, you just learn to... live with it.  _

This mental exchange happened so fast, she wasn’t sure it was real for a few moments, until she realized Logan was waiting for her to say something… maybe even share something about what had happened to her.

She sighed, then, still responding with a dejected, “Most of it…my past...isn’t worth knowing,” 

She could tell he immediately rejected this idea, choosing to nonverbally voice his disagreeing with her. He instinctively, slowly moved closer, and she felt the leather glove of his hand below her chin, tilting her head upward to look at him. 

Hazel eyes. Dark brown hair, so dark it was almost black. The beginning of crow’s feet. Muttonchops. A light scar near his right eye, one small scant white line she’d never asked him about, but now knew was from a sledding accident when he was six.  _ The scars before his powers manifested, they never healed,  _ she had realized a few weeks back. 

He was still staring at her, and she realized only after the fact that he had spoken. 

“I couldn’t disagree more, baby.” 

And then he was leaning in more, so,  _ so close, _ closer than he ever had, his mouth lingering just beyond her ear, as her pulse rapidly fluttered within her, every neuron, every fiber,  _ alit  _ with want, need, as he whispered his next words.

“All I wanna know about is what makes you tick. There ain't one single part of you I don't wanna get my hands on to figure it out, either, and that’s the goddamn truth.” 

And then, there it was, the deeper understanding that ran hard and dark through them both. She was absolutely in synchrony with him, just enough of his instincts left in her to speak the same base language.  _ He wanted her. Desperately. In every way. He wanted to fuck her on every surface of that bunker, out here in the wild, and, most importantly, over and over again in his bed. He wanted her as his mate. As his partner. Most likely for life. _ She looked at him, eyes wide in mild overwhelming fear at how  _ intense  _ it all felt, and she was lost for a few moments, before he grounded her, leaning in, breathing in her scent. And then she was moving out of instinct, just barely tilting her neck, baring herself for him, knowing now that when she exposed the thin, delicate skin of her carotid, centimeters away from his mouth and, despite their normal-looking appearance, two incredibly, inhumanly sharp canines, centimeters away from every animalistic urge to  _ rut  _ and  _ fuck  _ and  _ claim  _ he had, it meant something. She watched it happen, watched his eyes go dark, watched his body language change in a quick ripple of energy, as he gently and evenly pressed his teeth and lips to the exposed skin of her neck, biting just slightly. Not enough to mark her, but enough so that it hurt. She sighed in a mixture of pleasure, pain, ecstasy. For a few seconds, she felt nothing but the wetness of his tongue sliding across her neck, soothing the bite, the sound of his growls still in her ears as his hand snaked up to cradle the back of her head posessively, but then it was too much, she was seeing  _ too much,  _ newer things, recent things, as soon as the night before, as soon as  _ now,  _ as she felt his feelings. His arousal. His lust. 

“Sugar…” she warned, coming to her senses a bit more, but he could only growl in response, and she could still feel her pulse in his mouth, and his feral urges flowing more quickly into her, and her skin greedily lapping up more than its fill.

“Logan!” she said more loudly, and then she felt him using all his strength to rip away from her. He was barely standing, woozy once again on the spot, like he’d been in Cape Town, except for this time he was about to lose consciousness from contact with her skin and not a case of whiskey. She bit her lip in anticipation, scared of how he might react, what he might say, even as the residual feelings of his lust radiated through her. Was that what arousal felt like for him? Because _ ...holy...shit…  _ She’d have sex all the time too, if it felt like  _ that.  _

_ That pretty much sums it up, darlin’. Except fer maybe amp up the volume by twenty when, you know, things are good and hard.  _

“Fuck, darlin’,” meanwhile the real Logan was saying, and when he saw the profuse beginning of tears in her eyes, he frowned deeply, immediately responding by pulling her close once more, telling her quickly with his body language first:  _ I am not afraid. I will not leave.  _ He pulled her close his chest, not so much unlike last night, before she had made a bumbling mess of things today, out here in the snow. She leaned into him easily, like she had always belonged there, and he buried the bridge of his nose into her soft hair for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured through another few tears, and she realized she was apologizing for everything. For ever taking him in, for ever stealing his power. For being there in that bar in Laughlin, for stowing away in his truck. For fleeing to New York. For falling into the hands of Transigen. For losing...for losing Skittles. For being responsible for the deaths of so, so many. 

“I’m sorry for all of it,” she echoed, the sound of the words muted as she spoke them into the wool of his coat. 

“It’s ok, baby,” he mumbled into her hair, not truly understanding, but stroking the brown and white tendrils all the same. For a while he held her like that, both of their boots now damp and icy cold in the thick snow, until her heartbeat slowed to a steady rhythm, until she was completely herself, and until he regained his strength, too.

“We’re gonna figure this thing out, Marie,” he finally added, his grip tightening slightly over her gloved hand. “I swear to fucking God we will.”

  
  


** _Pinwheel Universe: Original/Revised Timeline, May 1973_ **

** _Westchester, New York_ **

Things weren’t fuckin’ goin’ well. Paris had been a clusterfuck. As Logan struggled to stay conscious, mind whipping back and forth between past and future, a surge of pain flowing through him, he’d learned after the fact that that selfish Lensherr bastard had tried to kill Mystique altogether. The fuckin’ charade had made everyone look like goddamn animals, and they’d lost Raven in the throngs of people screaming, running for the lives. All of it had been caught on film, and now, things seemed worse than ever before. 

They’d spent the flight home in silence, Charles sleeping for most of it, or so fuckin’ gloomy no one could start a conversation with him. Logan was exhausted, but sleep was again erratic. He’d been sleeping on a fuckin’ jet for years now, but for some reason couldn’t on the private charter they’d hired to fly back to Westchester. He’d knocked back several glasses of expensive bourbon, savoring the taste, it bein’ years since he’d had any decent liquor, trying to sort out what had happened.

_ I just saw someone who’s gonna bring me a lot of pain someday. _

He hadn’t expected to run into fuckin’ Stryker, of all people, and it had been scary as fuck to feel displaced, images of the Bhuddist temple suddenly flashing in his mind, the telltale pain of claws, adamantium this time, rippin’ through the knuckles, the feeling of being restrained, and then, he was back in Paris, and everything had gone to fuckin’ hell. Erik estranged. Mystique missing. The timeline...

For that one, he needed another glass of bourbon, which he indulged in, generously. How long had it been since they’d sent him back? Two days? Three? Had time passed at the same rate back in 2023? The flight to Europe and back had thrown him off balance, and he felt himself slipping from the life he’d come from.  _ How quickly you get used to a little fuckin’ convenience,  _ he thought bitterly through a frown. Another glance to Charles, who was asleep, fitfully, in a chair, had him realizin’ how much they’d all set themselves back.  _ How in the hell were  _ they gonna find Mystique now? Logan was sure she was still dead set on killin’ Trask, and now it seemed Lensherr was dead set on killin’ Raven.

This thing was likely fuckin’ over. Even if Raven didn’t touch a hair on Trask’s head, Logan was doubtful that what had transpired at Paris was likely to have a positive effect on the future. He knew he had made a goddamn mess of it, although he’d had some help along the way. He frowned, looking back over to Charles. He knew when a man had lost hope, had seen it hundreds of times, during war and peace, and he saw the same look about Charles now. You could practically smell it on him. _Why the hell had he thought this was gonna be easy? _Why the hell had he thought he’d just stumble in on some younger version of the same man, with the same wisdom only decades of experience could offer? This kid was lost, terrified, numbing the pain of bein’ a mutant with a cocktail of Hank’s drugs and every sorta booze he could get his hands on. It took one to know one after all.

He fuckin’ assumed Westchester was always an answer, sometimes to the problems in Logan’s life he wasn’t even aware of. It was a place of hope, and Logan couldn’t guess how many times he had taken advantage of it, advantage of  _ them _ , just to get the dump of dopamine he needed to make through another goddamn week. And even when Logan couldn’t set foot in the goddamn place out of grief or regret or shame, it was still always  _ there,  _ that is, until it wasn’t. But just because Westchester had been restored, just because it wasn’t overrun by the government, used as an experimentation lab, torturing mutants and doin’ God knows what else to ‘em in the bowels of the building, didn’t mean this Westchester was the same. The truth was...the place wasn’t nothin without the man with the ideology behind it. Logan was realizin’ that now, although much too late.

No one spoke on the car ride home, and it seemed like no one was gonna, until the turrets the mansion came into view. They had barely made it inside the door, when it seemed the God Logan didn’t believe in intervened, provin’ to the older mutant all over again that the man and the manor were inexplicably intertwined. Just past the table in the foyer, Charles’ legs buckled underneath him, and he hissed in pain, barely able to even use his knees. Both Hank and Logan both immediately moved to help him, and McCoy was able to drag him over to the wall as Charles writhed in agony. 

“What happened? Why can’t he walk?” Logan was asking, over Charles moans.

“He needs his treatment,” Hank muttered. 

“Hank, I can hear them-” Charles was saying, and Logan took a step away from them both, instinctively giving them space in a moment not meant to be witnessed.

“-I know. It’s ok, we can make it stop-” Hank was saying. “I’ll go get it,” Hank muttered, and then he was racing up the stairs, leaving Logan staring at Charles, who was struggling to breathe, clutching his head, moaning. 

Logan didn’t know  _ what  _ to fuckin’ say to the younger man, and found himself mutterin’ uncomfortably from the spot where he still stood, “Hey, hey. Pull yourself together. It’s not over yet.”

And then, Charles’ breathing slowed, and he stared Logan dead in the eye, and Logan could feel somethin’ real cold pass over him. Almost like...almost like before, some outside force, just barely pressing on the surface of his brain.

“You don’t believe that,” Charles said, staring at Logan knowingly, and Logan stopped, frustration gone, as he stared back at Charles.

“How do you know?” Logan mumbled under his breath.

“As these go, this comes back,” Charles managed to breathe, hands shaking as he clutched his head again, closing his eyes. “ _ They all  _ come back.”

Logan ripped his glance away from Charles, turning away and staring at the other side of the foyer.  _ How many goddamn times  _ had he strolled in here,  _ fucking’ clueless... _ He glanced down at his boots, the thick persian rugs, listeneing to Charle’s irregular heartbeat. Everythin’ in Logan should be tellin’ him it was over, if only because things had a way of never quite workin’ out the way they wanted, the way they deserved. Call him a cynic, but he’d laid eyes on too many dead, mutilated children. Decaying bodies. Maybe...maybe their lot was always meant for this kinda faint. Humanity, re-correcting itself. 

But...he wasn’t back in that temple.  _ Not yet.  _ And the world wasn’t splittin’ down the middle.  _ Not yet.  _ Maybe, ‘Ro and the others were still holdin’ them off. Maybe... 

“Look. I’m…” he finally sighed. “I’m still here,” Logan finished, turning back to Charles. At this point, though, the younger man was already ripping off his jacket, obviously fuckin’ starved for the drugs that made him feel more human. Meanwhile, Logan pressed on. 

“She’s still out there…” he said frowning. He stared at the younger man intently now, realizing what it would have to come to, what he needed Charles to do. 

“But we need your help...Charles. Not like this. I need you. We can’t find Raven. Not without your powers,” Logan said, and, finally, Charles looked at Logan once more, doubt and fear in his eyes. And, for a moment, they simply stared at each other as Hank rushed back into the room.

“I added a little extra because you missed a dose,” Hank was saying, and then...Charles. Starin’ at the needle, starin’ at Logan. And then, he thought of Rogue. He thought of Hank. He thought of all the people he’d lost. He thought of how their lives ended and for what means. He pictured ‘em, one by one, still glaring at Charles with intensity. 

“Charles,” Logan said once again, still from a distance. Still though, the man ignored him, grabbing the needle from Hank, lining it up with his vein, tears in his eyes as he shot another glance over to Logan.

_ It’s over without you.  _

And then, the needle discarded, on the floor, and with it, a new, quiet throb of hope.

\--

** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, October 2015_ **

** _Two Rivers Research Facility, Alberta, Canada_ **

“Rogue, I’m just going to assume there is more you’re willing to share and you’re being…hesitant. It’s that or you have wasted our time, which is indefensible.”

She stood there, the feeling of the inhibitor collar heavy on the back of her neck. Her thoughts were racing, even as she shot a glance to Logan, who grimaced in pain, reduced to his knees, as six men held him down, blood seeping from a gunshot wound in his calf, stubbornly un-healing.

“Charles is in the sky, that’s all I know,” she said quietly, evenly. Smithfield, the greying man, the man in the cowboy boots and ugly pinstripes, sneered, and a profound anger burned in her eyes that she tried not to show. She’d been abused, beaten, and coerced by this man, the head of the Canadian division of Trask Industries, and the one she had directly reported to for the past five years for intelligence information. Year after year, one by one, she’d been forced to pass along just intel for Trask to pick off some of the people she cared for. For years, she lived her life in misery, until most of her team was gone. It wasn’t until Hank, until Charles, until _Logan, _that she had been offered a choice, a chance at redemption. Two Rivers was supposed to be about undoing some of the horrible pain she had caused, undoing some of the hurt and anger and bloodshed caused by that fearful, selfish decision years ago. 

_ You don’t know what it’s like to be afraid of your powers, afraid to get close to anybody. _

_ Yeah, I do.  _

_ I want to be able to touch people, Logan. A hug. A handshake. A kiss. _

That want, that need, had cost her everything. And was still costing her. She looked over to him, and his hazel eyes were pained as he stared at her. She could tell he was trying to reassure her, even as she heard Smithfield order the soldiers to lift him up. And then, one of them was driving a knife deep into the right side of Logan’s chest, and he was snarling in pain, and she watched him writhe against the men who had to struggle to hold him down just to drag the knife through an intestine, a stomach, a liver, toward the heart.  _ He was going to die _ .  _ Oh, god. He was going to die. _

_ Just think about what I said, Rogue. _

_ Marie. _

_ Marie.  _

“You sure that’s it?”

She could not find her words. There was nothing else  _ to  _ say, and, again, Logan screamed in pain as the soldier twisted the knife. She could sense him losing consciousness, before fighting against it, growling as he gritted his teeth and spat blood in Smithfield’s face when the man bent over to try to procure an answer from the mutant.

The man did not hide the disdain, the contempt on his face as he glared at Logan, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sleeve, before standing, looking back at Rogue. Meanwhile, the soldier had left the knife still embedded in Logan’s chest, and he growled again in pain. He was hurting, always hurting, around her. 

_ It’s about claimin’ you, isn’t it? You know...if I had you, there’d be no end.  _

She looked to Logan once more, to Smithfield, to the man in the white lab coat.

Everyone, always hurting around her. Everyone,  _ dying at her hand.  _ And, what was left? For her, nothing, apart from a few happy, fleeting glimpses, stolen moments of touch while her boots grew damp in the frigid snow. 

_ Marie, don't do it.  _ The voice inside her head she was surprised to hear, since the inhibitor collar was firmly in place. 

_ Three more children. Three more lives I can save.  _

_ Marie...I’m begging you. Don’t...do this. Don’t be their puppet again. Don’t surrender to them. _

“Still nothing, Rogue?” the man was shouting. “Should we bring the children in here and-”

_ Marie- _

_ But don’t you see, sugar? This is the first time I own my actions. I control my future, my fate.  _

Just then, she took advantage of the man who held her arm who had relaxed his grip, kneeing him in the groin quickly, her hands closing on the inhibitor collar on the back of her neck.

_ Marie! Goddamnit, woman! No!  _ the voice screamed from inside her mind, but she ignored it once more, yanking the collar off, but not before she felt the poison seep into her spine. She could feel the real Logan’s eyes on her, but she couldn’t bear to look at him as she gritted her teeth in pain and dodged left, using her bare hand to grab the man in the white lab coat by his uncovered wrist.

_ Malcolm Goldbach. Head scientist for Two Rivers. Designer of the facility.  _ As the information flowed into her brain, as the scientist began screaming inside her head as she ended his life, she was then throwing her body into another soldier, now with a strength that sent him flying across the room. She heard gunfire, felt pain, but still she seized the portable reader off the body in the white lab coat and punched in a code. Just then, she watched Logan’s collar unsnap, and in one overwhelming moment, Marie watched as Logan ripped the knife out of his chest and began mowing men over as fast as he could, even as a rain of new bullets poured down on him. 

They had run. They had freed children. She had watched Logan cradle the head of the little girl with the brown curls, unconscious in his arms, as the portal opened. She had helped the boys through, and then had stopped short, staring at the man she had just started to know again, the man she now had to leave. 

“Come ON!” he roared.

“No,” she said simply.

“Marie!”

“It’s done, baby,” she said, her voice struggling, while the world, the awful, awful world they lived in fell apart around them. Outside, she could feel the air tighten, the heavy metal falling toward the earth, the promise of destruction on the wind. She had told him she loved him. Always had. He protested, snarled, heart breaking in front of her, and then...he was gone.

She stumbled forward in grief, fell to her knees. She could hear the footsteps coming for her-- _ let them have me, let death finally have me-- _ she thought, until six awful words crowded her brain. She’d missed something. Something important.

“The antidote, now!” a guard shouted. “And a tranquilizer."

_ No,  _ she thought, as two men tackled her to the floor. And then, a needle once more into her spine and voices, fading voices, above her.

“Don’t you see, you idiot? She’s a goddamn double agent. Med Bay B, take her underground, now. Her knowledge is invaluable!”

_ No, no, no. Let me die, please. I can’t. Not now. Not again. _

Above them, rumbling. Above them, the sound of the Blackbird rocketing forward, out of the atmosphere, hope eroding on the spot. And then, around her, her world shrinking once again. Her chance at her own life disappearing before her very eyes. All of it, fading to black.

  
  
\--

** _Pinwheel Universe: Original/Revised Timeline, May 1973_ **

** _Westchester, New York_ **

Everything looked the same, to the point where Logan was practically lost in time. The same hallways, stretching in several directions, a steel maze. The same circular doors, the same bright fluorescent lighting. It felt like centuries ago that Logan had fled down the hallways, lost and confused, assuming he was back in a fucking lab again, being experimented on. He’d stolen some clothes, found his way upstairs, had bumbled into Charles’ office, and realized where he actually was. Where he had first met Charles. 

The younger version of the man had agreed to come down here, to face his powers. Logan was still skeptical, but as he glanced around the hallways cautiously, the smells alone told him that it had been a long  _ long  _ time since anyone had made use of this basement. Suddenly, his dubiety grew.

“When was the last time you were down here?” he glanced at Charles and Hank.

“The last time we went looking for students,” Hank suggested flatly. 

“A lifetime ago,” Charles murmured, staring at the door as it scanned his retinas.

An outdated, clunky voice greeted him. “Welcome, Professor,” they all heard it say, and a chill shot down Logan’s spine. 

Logan wasn’t a telepath. Not even close, so that world, the world  _ they  _ lived in had always mystified him. Sure, he knew a person’s tells. He could sense if they were lyin’, all by an uptick of their heart or a change in their smell. But that was all the body, all the outward signs of a person betrayin’ themselves. But...what Rogue, due to the nature of her powers, used to talk about sometimes.... Even what Jean had experienced...the intricacies of a person’s thoughts, memories, their minds. Marie had once called it “walking through a cloud.” It never had made sense to Logan, but he’d respected her metaphor nevertheless. 

It wasn’t ever real to him until he saw Cerebro working. It had been overwhelming, the first time he’d been down there, puttin’ out a cigar with his hand as the door shut behind him. This time was just like the last, and before Logan could even blink, the room changed, evolved, and suddenly hundreds of thousands of lives were illuminated before them all. Red pinpricks of life, all mutants. It was shocking, the fuckin’ difference. What the Cerebro on the jet had been picking up lately, only small handfuls, tiny clusters of mutants left, stood in stark juxtaposition to everything, to the thriving, pulsing reality before him now. 

Then though, pressure. A surge of energy, Charles struggling. Logan could sense it in the younger man, and then the dials were whirling, spiking, and Logan could hear himself saying the professors’ name…

Then. Circuits blown. Sparks flying as Hank muttered something checking the generators and disappeared, and Charles slumped forward, a desperate, tired look in his eyes. It wasn’t workin’. It had overwhelmed the younger man, quickly.

“It’s not the machinery, is it?” Logan muttered, glancing down at Charles’ trembling hands, the answer as clear as could be to both men.

Charles was shaking his head. “I can’t do this...my mind…” he trailed off

“Yes you can,” Logan pressed, brows furrowing.

“It won't take it,” Charles stammered.

“You’re just a little rusty-” Logan began, before Charles interrupted.

“You don’t  _ understand. _ It’s not a question of being rusty. I can flip the switches, I can turn the knobs, but my power comes from here,” Charles muttered gesturing to his head. “It comes from…” then, a shaking hand over his heart. “And it’s _ broken _ .”

Logan only blinked at him once or twice. A broken heart. A broken body. In more ways than one, Logan didn’t doubt Charles understood the notion of what it meant to be broken. A spine severed. A man he loved, trusted, betraying him. But for a man who could heal, Logan guessed he understood more about what healin’ meant, and about what not quite healin’ right meant too. Pieces of his innermost self severed, and the way it radiated outward, playin’ on his ability to control his own power. The way it had affected the choices he’d made, all that he’d done since that moment at Two Rivers. Logan knew already that in this timeline, that timeline,  _ any  _ time or space, heartache was always in the cards for people like them. For people like Sable. And Storm. And Charles. They had all survived, had found a way forward, but they’d all healed wrong. Some things, you just didn’t come back from. 

Meanwhile, Charles maneuvered his wheelchair to turn around, giving up on Cerebro entirely.

“I feel like one of my students.  _ Helpless. _ It was a mistake coming down here, it was a mistake freeing Erik. This whole thing has been one  _ bloody _ mistake! I’m sorry, Logan, but they sent back the wrong man.”

_ Wasn’t that the fucking truth _ , Logan thought through a slight frown. All these thoughts in his goddamn mind, but always helpless to find the words in English to communicate them. But…  _ wait.  _

He held a link to the future right now. Kitty was holdin’ him here, right? And when he’d grown “rocky” he’d felt the goddamn adamantium, and felt the cold concrete slab his future body was still lyin’ on.

_ The wrong man.  _

_ Maybe. Just maybe.  _ Logan stared at the middle of Cerebro for a moment, glancing up at the looming, cavernous space, before finally answering.

“Yer right. I am,” Logan said carefully, glancing at Charles again.  _ They weren’t fucked. Not yet. _ And to consider that they were was to seal their fate. Everything rode on this moment. Everything rode on Charles understanding he was worth more than what he perceived himself to be. Logan was the link between past and present,  _ always fucking had been.  _

_ One winter, it was so cold, the beer froze in the barrels. _

_ What? You don’t think women can be lawyers? _

_ Storm would kill you if she knew you snuck alcohol into the dance. _

_ Logan! Logan! What did you bring me this time? _

Logan shut his eyes tightly, clearing his head for a moment.

_ You’re going to have to do for me what I once did for you. Lead me. Guide me.  _

One more glance around the empty room, and then he turned on his heel, deliberately striding over to Charles, making up his mind with every step, until he was right at the entrance to Cerebro, right in front of Charles’ chair. 

“Actually it was supposed to be you. But I was the only one who could physically make the trip. And I don’t know how long I got here…” he trailed off, glancing down at Charles again. “But I do know that a long time ago…” Logan paused, realizing what he was saying and smirked as he corrected himself. 

“Actually, a long time from _ now _ …” Logan murmured, before leaning on either side of Charles’ chair to stare the man straight in the eye. “ _ I  _ was your most helpless student. And you unlocked my mind. You  _ showed  _ me what I was. You showed me what I could be. I don’t know how to do that for you. Yer right. I don’t….” Logan dropped off, and then, he smiled. 

“But I know someone who might,” Logan muttered.  _ God, please let this fuckin’ work.  _

“Look into my mind,” Logan said clearly, and watched as the younger man responded with skepticism and a shake of his head. 

“You saw what I did to Cerebro. You don’t want me inside your head,” Charles said naively, and Logan couldn’t help but smirk once more.

“There’s no damage you could do that hasn’t already been done, trust me. C’mon,” Logan urged, looking at Charles with an unwavering stare. And then, Logan could tell Charles was giving in, tired and exhausted from trying, but still willing to stumble forward. 

Slowly, the younger man lifted his hand, putting two fingers to Logan’s temple. Logan braced himself, he always did before a telepath read his mind, keepin’ a real tight hold of the animal, trying to relax enough to not barrage the younger man with all that he’d seen and done. All the bloodshed. All the heartache. All the pain.

But then, like a fuckin’ horror show, memory after memory surging between the two men. Memories Logan barely was aware of. Memories of him screamin’ underwater during Stryker, memories of living like a goddamn feral animal in the wilderness, memories of screaming as his skin burned off in Nagasaki, memories of Evie and Irene, memories of Xavier’s and killing Jeannie and findin’ hope again in Rogue. Memories of the war, of broken bodies at North Point. Of a quiet, hopeless Storm. And then Charles was pullin’ away, letting go, tears in his goddamn eyes, a look of disgust and defeat on his face. 

“You poor,  _ poor _ man,” he was muttering, and Logan barely contained a growl.

“Look  _ past _ me,” he snarled, shaking off the tumultuous outpouring of the past, but Charles was shaking his head. 

“No,  _ no. _ I don’t want your suffering. I don’t  _ want your future!”  _ he screamed in Logan’s face desperately, and Logan held on, staring at the younger man who had still not taken his hand off of Logan’s temple. 

“Look  _ past  _ my future. Look for  _ your  _ future,” Logan growled, and then he could feel it. The settling, Charles calming down as, once more, he nudged his way into Logan’s mind. This time, instead of bracing, Logan also calmed, instead of restraining things, simply let them be. Charles’ breathing steadied as Logan murmured “That’s it” again and again, and then Logan’s mind was blank, simply a fuckin’ vessel, and somehow he could feel the slab he was lying on in the future and the pulse of Kitty’s power holdin’ him there as much as he could feel the steel floor under his boots and the metal of either handrest of Charles’ wheelchair in the past. He stood there, patiently, quietly, until the feeling of bein’ used resided, and Charles was pulling away, staring at Logan with a complete change on his face, a knowing, steady look. A look of awe. 

“Find what you were looking for?” Logan asked knowingly, finally standing up once more to his full height as Charles continued to stare at him. Logan smelled Hank coming down the hall, and heard him murmur just beyond them, “Power’s back on."

And then, Charles was murmuring, “Yes. Yes it is.” And Logan gave him a nod. They both had their answers. 

  
\--

** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, January 2016_ **

** _Former Site of Cerebro, Westchester, New York_ **

_ Stars are out. _

_ They're nice, I guess. Do you know any of them? The constellations? _

_ Nah, kid. _

_ “Please…”  _

_ Silent tears fell down her cheeks, as they jerked the chains around the mutant’s wrists, dragging him forward, closer to her bare hands. He was snarling, desperate to get away from her. He looked a lot more like a feral than Logan did, claws and fangs and different body structure, but with the inhibitor collar on the back of his neck, he was rendered weak, exhausted. _

_ “I’ve got a little girl, alright? A wife,” he pled with Rogue through a thick Boston accent, and she frowned, shaking her head slightly against the restraints, trying to tell him with her eyes she wasn’t to blame. Every time she spoke, she was shocked with electricity, and like a simple rat, she’d been conditioned not to speak. Meanwhile, her hands were bound in stationary cuffs. There was nothing she could do as they pushed the other mutant toward her. She knew why, of course, they’d chosen this one. He had a healing factor. _

_ They intended to keep torturing her endlessly, until they extracted the information they needed. _

_ Just...be ready. He’s gonna fight you once you absorb him,  _ Logan warned her, trying to prepare her for the onslaught.

I can’t- I can’t do this anymore,  _ she sobbed in her head, and she felt the imprint of Logan’s voice trying to brace her it, just as her bare fingers made contact with the fur on the feral man’s skin. He suddenly was rendered immobile, frozen in pain, as his life-force, the thirty years of memories, inundated her. Flashes of a little girl, a beautiful mutant woman, a two story bungalow in a Boston neighborhood before the war and a job at a bank, flowed into her head, along with the death and destruction. The last six months spent on the run, practically starving, huddling in lean-tos. The government finally catching up with them, and the little girl being ripped away from him, her crying the sharp, piercing wails of a young child. And, after, the pain, the regret, the torture he’d endured. All of it, now hers to feel, hers to remember, as they both screamed as she ended his life. _

Slowly, she violently came to, gasping for breath, rolling over and spitting blood to the floor. The inhibitor collar was currently on, it always was during torture session, and she wouldn’t feel the now-familiar pain of healing until either she gave them something, or was on the brink of death. So far, it had always been the latter. She huddled on the ground on her hands and knees, trying to stay conscious, but, still, her memories, the others’ memories,  _ his  _ memories, crowded her brain.

_ I intend to be a lawyer. _

_ A lawyer, eh? _

_ What? You don’t think women can be lawyers? _

_ Daddy! Daddy! Ida screamed, running into his arms. _

_ Hey, rascal. How are you today? _

_ So what kind of a name is Rogue? _

_ Marie, stay awake. You could die if you lose consciousness,  _ Logan snarled from inside her head.

_ They won’t let me die. They need me.  _

“For the last time, Ms. D’Ancanto. The location of the Canadian base.”

She looked up to him then, through hazy vision, savoring the frustration in the man’s voice. This was her third handler in a month. They each had a week to get something out of her, and, if they didn’t, they were exterminated. At this thought, she only grinned through bloody teeth. She’d never be their lapdog, their _fucking_ _bitch _again. She wouldn’t fetch, no matter what kind of bone they threw her way. It was all, and that meant it was nothing.

“ _ Fuck. You _ ,” she hissed, and, in his frustration, the masked man grabbed her by the hair and threw her back to the floor before drawing his gun and shooting her square in the stomach. She screamed in pain as her head bounced of the cement of the concrete cell, and the handler once more spit in the floor beside her 

“Let the stomach acid eat your insides for the next hour or so, see if then you remember anything, any fucking thing, and  _ then  _ we’ll see about turning the inhibitor off. Fuckin’  _ animal, _ ” he hissed, and left her alone in the room. She whimpered, her hands bathed in red, cradling the gunshot wound in her belly as she lie on one side, his voice remaining close.

_ You know the goddamn drill, kid. Focus on somethin’ else. Anything but the pain,  _ Logan snarled from inside her mind.

“S-something else,” she said weakly, her eyes fluttering shut once more. Organs corroding, the hot, wet feeling of her insides, her head light already from blood loss.

_ So what kind of a name is Rogue?  _

_ I intend to be a lawyer.  _

_ Daddy!  _

_ L-Logan?  _ she weakly thought in her head 

_ Marie. _

_ Don’t leave me. _

_ Never, kid. Never again.  _

\--

  
  


** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, August 2023_ **

** _China_ **

There was a sense of it in the air, somehow. A knowing of the end, a bracing for what was to come. If she listened, sometimes she could hear it. The voices would speak to her, the different currents the atmospheric changes in pressure all its own language. She could sense it coming, but knew it was not yet. And yet they had been out here for long hours now, on high alert, at their agreed upon positions. The night wind howled against the Himilayan mountains, but she was not bothered. She had honor, and she had courage. She would happily die protecting a new future, a new chance at life. And out amidst the elements that had helped raise her, she felt safe. Certainly safer than inside, where Logan unfortunately was. 

She frowned once more, turning her back to the harsh wind. They were facing this as she hadn’t guessed they would.  _ Apart. _ But, even as she had felt his warm breath in her ear as they had said their final goodbyes, her body savoring the comfortable and familiar feel of him, soaking in everything she was about to lose, she realized maybe it was as it should be. They were soldiers first, friends second, and lovers far down the list. When called to duty, they followed orders. And that was that. 

_ Storm, Bishop, to the front door. They’re have been complications.  _

Something frigid seized up inside Storm as she immediately turned on her heel toward the temple, and she realized Bishop was right behind her. She glanced to the taller man, who had a long history of being a vicious rebel, fighter, and upholder of the mutant cause, as he looked at her somberly. 

Then, the temple door that Logan had closed only a few hours before was slowly opening, and Storm knew to expect the worst. A desperate, worried Bobby shoving open the door, a haunted Erik tailing him, an urgency in his eyes Storm hadn’t seen in years, and then the professor in his chair, his face somber. 

“Professor! What is this?” Storm asked hurriedly, but then Charles was quickly giving her his memories, showing what had transpired inside the temple. Images of Logan thrashing, of his claws extended, of him injuring Kitty. Of the seeping blood, and then, of Bobby’s plan. Storm’s breath caught in her throat as she turned to Bobby.

“You  _ knew?”  _ she asked. Rogue, alive. Rogue, alive. Oh, god.  _ Oh god.  _ If Logan knew. If he  _ knew... _

“They were unable to extract her, Ororo. But now they have me. I will operate the jet, and Erik and Bobby will rescue her,” Charles said hurriedly.

“To  _ use  _ her,” Storm spat, but another look from Charles had Storm softening, realizing just how much was at stake. They were all being used now.  _ Soldiers first, people second,  _ Storm thought through a grimace. 

“Bishop,” Charles began, and then the man simply nodded, quietly entering the temple, obviously aware of his task to see to Kitty during the others’ absence. 

“Charles. Do you need me to-?” Storm began, but another quick shake of the older mutant’s head.

“You are our most powerful mutant. We need you at the wall,” Charles said softly, before hesitating, and then adding, “Any guilt about the past, about not being able to save Rogue, you must set aside, my dear.” Storm understood immediately and nodded, swallowing the pain of what was happening once more.

“Go,” she said, throwing a bitter look at Bobby, whose motives Storm guessed were much more personal and less espoused to the greater cause. “We will tend to our stations and await your return,” she added, once more shoving off thoughts of how awful it was, how awful it  _ would be  _ if he could know. But...even if this worked and they found Rogue and all was  _ not  _ lost, he couldn't know, wouldn’t  _ ever  _ know. He slept, forever, now lost in time. 

  
  


\--

** _Pinwheel Universe: Original/Revised Timeline, May 1973_ **

** _Westchester, New York_ **

Charles had found Raven, but at an airport headed anywhere. They had decided that they would try again in the morning, give it another go, as fatigued as they all were. Logan stumbled to a spare room, from the look of it an old student dorm, intent on a bottle of Charles’ whiskey and the pack of decent cigars he’d picked up in Paris. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been awake, really. He’d been dozing off and on during the plane ride back, but all of it, ever since that morning with Storm on the jet, had felt like one goddamn day. Constantly scheming, moving, running. 

Come to think of it, he’d been runnin’ for a long time now. Too damn long. And it had nothing to do with the fuckin’ war. He’d thought...well...he’d thought for a moment when he had her back in his life there’d be a future where they could be  _ still.  _ At peace. Maybe a cabin somewhere. Maybe at the edge of some Canadian lake, far away from everyone else. But, of course, that had been a foolish, naive hope, A blind hope from a man tired of runnin’, but unable to stay put in one place for very long either. He wasn’t good at stayin’ still and playin’ house. Every woman in his life that had meant something to him had proven that. Except for maybe Marie.

At this thought, Logan frowned, and snatched the lighter off the nightstand littered with spare change, the wallet with the fake ID, a glass and a nearly empty bottle. As the paper smoldered from the open flame, Logan snapped the lighter shut and the smoke from the cigar coiled up in thick plumes as he shed down to a wifebeater and jeans. There was the kick of the radiator coming on as the sun sunk down through the windows, and night arrived. He lay down then, smoking. For long moments, Logan wasn’t even sure how long, he listened to the news through the tinny sound of the radio, poured drink after drink, smoked cigar after cigar.  _ God.  _ He’d missed this. Just a little fuckin’ time to himself. Maybe a little of that elusive fuckin’ peace.

_ Rockets did land outside the base, killing five civilians and wounding 12 others. While careful not to go above-  _ the radio was reporting, when suddenly there was a shrill knock at the door, and Logan growled lowly even as he muttered a “yeah” but refused to get up from the place he was lounging. Nothing was getting his sorry ass out of bed tonight short of a goddamn sentinel attack. 

In the doorway, Hank, looking anxious. Something about the sight of him made Logan’s heart soften, which usually was quite the feat. Still though, he had to give it to the scrawny kid. Just like the older man Logan had known from his time, Hank was Charles’ most trusted advisor, his confidante. Hank couldn’t be more than thirty right now. He probably could’ve had a swath of accolades and achievements and degrees--maybe already did, Logan never was sure how Charles had found him--but he’d been playin’ nursemaid to a broken man for a long time, wastin’ his life away at this school, that was certain.

_ This goddamn school.  _

Meanwhile, Hank was talking. Logan was barely listening.

“You know those things can give you cancer. I mean I’ve done some toxicology tests in the lab and…” 

Logan said nothing, taking a big suck of the cigar and blowing it out through his nose, staring at the younger man dead in the face. No way Hank was down here to give him a hard time tonight. And if he was, he’d highly consider stabbing the sorry bastard. 

“You want something?” Logan muttered. And then Logan could smell it on the kid. He was nervous. He wanted information. He wanted...

“Y-Yeah, um...I know it’s complicated, and there’s probably all kinds of rules and reasons for what you can and can't say, but...I was wondering if you could tell me...in the future, do I make it?”

Shit.  _ Hank being dragged onto his lawn by protestors. Beaten. Burned.  _

“No,” Logan said bluntly through a shake of his head. Hank was immediately crestfallen, his smile fading on the spot. 

“Oh, Okay,” he muttered, awkwardly standing in the doorway still, maybe a bit like a child who’d had a bad dream, before remembering his manners. “It’s okay. Thanks,” he mumbled, and Logan sighed, her voice practically in his head, memories of her ever since bein’ back here haunting his brain.  _ Don’t give false hope, but give him something.  _

“Hey, kid,” Logan said to the door, and it opened just again. Hank was still frowning.

“It’s just the world I came from,” Logan looked at him knowingly, and Hank stared back, before murmuring, “Right.”

\--

_ Flickering light. The smell of smoke.  _ Goddamn it, the circuit's blown again. Fuckin’ newfangled electricity _ , he thought, as he opened his eyes. Dark. Vision adjusted. Sniffing the air again, he realized she wasn't in bed. He growled, stretched, and stumbled through the dark to the tiny kitchen, to faint light of smoldering ash on the two-seater table. The white linen tablecloth singed through in places from the Edison bulb that had blown. Fuck. Clara would give him shit for that. Another sniff of the air. Booze. Too much. She’d been drinkin’. Also, vomit. Fuck. He moved quickly through the dark to the small broom closet of a bathroom, to find her slunk over the small toilet, nightgown spoilt, vomit in her hair. Breathing? Yes, thank God. _

Fuckin’ hell.  _ He moved around her delicately to pick her up, wipe the red curls out of her hair. Grabbed a washrag to wipe her face. _

_ “ _ No _ ,” she whined in her daze. _

_ “Come on, girl. Ya passed out again, kid. Time for bed,” he said, easily picking up her long and lean body as her brows furrowed in the fog of a hungover brain.  _

_ “Just leave me. Can’t share a bed with _ you.  _ Not...not anymore,” she murmured, and something in him broke. _

_ And then he had her in the backseat of a car they’d rented, parked far in the forest. Evie was straddling him, her thighs harborin’ him, nice and hot and slick. His hand threaded in her long thick hair, and she licked the side of his neck, taking in his scent, when she said it. _

_ “Forever, right Jamie?” He sighed, but nodded. _

_ “Always kid,” he said and he had meant it. _

_ And then he didn’t mean it.  _

_ “Spendin’ yer father’s money? Fucking his daughter right under his goddamn nose?” he grinned. One finger inside her. Two. She was wet, warm, ready again. _

_ “Yeah, sure. Long as you keep your promise.” _

_ Sure babe. Sure. Forever.  _

_ The scream of a young girl, the feel of muscle and bone and flesh on his claws, and he immediately realized the stunt he’d pulled. _ Oh god. _ The poor girl. The girl he shoulda left behind in Laughlin, dyin’, all because he couldn’t fucking sleep at night.  _

_ “Somebody! Please! Help!” _

_ And then she was touching him, putting one smooth, flawless hand to the side of his face, and he was confused and then was just...less. She was pullin’ him in somehow, he felt horrific pain, but also like he was losing things...he felt… _

_ Pain. Betrayal. Fear. Sadness. But not his own. Flashes of Cerebro, but no Cerebro he had ever known. A bullet wound to the stomach, acid eatin’ at the insides. Pain so intense, but, again, not his own.  _

_ Hers.  _ Hers.  _ A purple portal snapping closed _ .  _ But after, the feel of sorrow. A life, continuing. A life that  _ hadn’t  _ ended. Instead: a fragmented collective, a kaleidoscope turning, mirrored images. His pain. Her pain. Their pain. _

“Hello, Logan.”

Her words, clear as fucking day, and then he was gasping for breath, chest heaving, waking up fomr the deep sleep he’d fallen into. 

_ No. It couldn’t be. It fucking couldn’t be.  _

“Rogue,” he whispered to the dark.

  
  


\--

** _Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, August 2023_ **

** _China_ **

Storm’s heart leapt into her throat as she saw the Blackbird returning, and closed her eyes tightly for a moment, thanking God for small favors. As it landed, she left her position and quickly approached the plane. It felt like it took forever to land, and when she assessed her beloved jet with her eyes, she realized it had taken damage, especially on the nose. Suddenly her anxiety surged, and she did not even have to wait for the three individuals to exit to know someone had been lost. Charles and Erik had exited first, somber, but when Rogue walked off the jet and not Bobby, Storm guiltily thought  _ better.  _ In three strides she was over to the woman hugging her fiercely. It took Rogue a minute to respond, but, shakily she brought her thin arms up to embrace the other woman as well.

When Storm pulled away though, she frowned deeply. Rogue was older, obviously. Thin. Still beautiful, but the lines were evident on her face and she had a sunken look about her, as if there had been too many battles she had lost in life. Or never had the ability to fight in the first place. 

“We thought…” Storm began, wiping away a tear as she stared at the girl she once taught, the woman she had once fought alongside. 

“I- I know,” Rogue murmured matter of factly, glancing down to the floor.

“Logan…” Storm began, glancing toward the temple.

“I’ve been briefed,” Rogue said, and then with the faintest smile she stepped away from Storm to follow Charles and Erik inside. Storm watched her go, closed her eyes tightly for a moment, then once more faced the harsh Himlayan wind.

“Spread out again. Bishop will be returning to run shifts!” Storm ordered the onlookers lurking in the shadows.

\--

She thought about her regrets. She thought about her parents dying when she was young. She thought about how she took advantage of the people in Cairo, stealing for money and food. She thought about the students she once taught, the ones she didn’t get to, the ones she ultimately failed. She thought about John. She thought about the baby she never would have. She always hoped it would have been a girl. She had a name picked out too.  _ Hazel.  _ John had liked it. All those regrets. She let each one drift off into the wind, letting the guilt go, swirling off with a spiraling drift of snow. What was left? Only love. She felt love. And she felt the things she  _ did not  _ regret. The things she cherished.

“There’s twelve carriers inbound! Ten miles!” WarPath shouted, but she had already sensed it on the wind. Their time was up. 

“We can’t stop that many,” she was hearing Bishop tell her, looking to Storm, who he had realized throughout their time guarding the temple, was a master of tactical strategy.

“No. But we can slow them down,” she said deliberately, and then, she lifted herself into the air, the way she had failed so many times at before, until she had learned how the current could be subordinate to her, do her bidding. 

_ It’s time,  _ she told the elements, and, fiercely, they obeyed. The wind roared. The thunder clapped, and in the distance, the sounds of carriers beginning to crash into one another. But also the sound of hatches releasing. 

“Get ready!! Sentinels inbound!” Warpath was shouting, but Storm was already charging herself with electricity, and the power emitted through her hands as one after one the vicious beings began breaking their ranks. Blink was a blur of her own portals, Sunspot was aflame. But then, more of them. More of them descending, some of them ascending from the cliffs below, teeming like the ants that would infiltrate her Egyption lean-to when she was stealing for food.  _ Too many too many. They need time. We need to give him time.  _

And then, she realized what they needed. Something in her heart quivered, just as her beloved Blackbird did the same. Slowly, it lifted itself in the air, and Storm realized Erik was here, somewhere, and now the jet was leaving them, leaving  _ her,  _ empty and alone. Storm knew why. The Blackbird house Cerebro, and within it a small nuclear power supply, and if she unleashed enough electricity at it, an explosion just big enough to buy them five minutes would occur. Storm ignored the horrific sounds of the jet’s whines as pieces of shrapnel flung off with the wind, as it turned on its side, and then vertically, nose pointed towards the heavens. A target, ready and willing. And Storm would need to pull the trigger.

_ Lightning.  _ But not the kind that came from the sky. The kind that came from electric moments, all those things she  _ did not  _ regret. Commanding all she knew, from her heart, from all the love she experienced. When she first arrived at Xavier’s and was able to finally feel  _ safe,  _ when a student would compliment her teaching or sheepishly leave an apple on her desk, when Charles asked her to take over the school to run it. And, later, the way John had made her feel when he ran a pale hand down the plane of her back--”Lets have kids”--, the way Logan had fought to save her in Libya, the wild look of chaos and vengeance in his eyes as he pulled his own inhibitor collar off the back of his neck, those fleeting moments Logan and Storm had shared together that were happy on the jet, when he had made her laugh at a corny or lewd joke, and then toward the end, when they had simply held one another.

All of that love, all the love she’d ever known. Charging within her, flowing through her, a power so immense that as a young woman it had scared her, but she was no longer the orphan, huddled under the dark rubble of a crashed plane. She was no longer small and she was no longer weak. She was no longer in the dark. 

She saw white as the lightning flew through her hands and she whispered a final  _ goodbye  _ as the Blackbird shuddered, stilled, and then exploded, and the mountain shook and her soul shook and a shrapnel rain fell down on them all. She dropped, quickly, dodging behind the wall, as she felt the metal rearrange itself into a shield above them, and then the pieces fell to the ground, harmless.

Storm breathed out sharply, her mind and body still radiating from the after effects of using so much power, and finally stood up, taking inventory. An eerie silence had fallen over the soldiers, as the snow fell softly in the air, so different from the chaos of the battle that had been occuring moments before.  _ Had they destroyed them all? Impossible. It couldn’t be.  _

“Is everybody ok?” she asked, cautious as she walked over to where the others were gathered, when she realized why. Breathing hard, hand shaking, Erik pulled out a twelve inch piece of shrapnel from his stomach. He had been hit with the debris, and he was dying.  _ God no. Please. Charles won’t survive his loss. Oh god this is the-  _

Then...  _ pain _ . Pain like she never before had experienced, and then  _ nothing.  _ Her body obliterated, spinal cord severed as the Sentinel attacked from behind, ending her life. Her heart sputtered and stopped, as she floated downward softly, like a white feather on a dark wind. 

\---

** _Pinwheel Universe: Original/Revised Timeline, May 1973/2023_ **

** _Washington D.C./China_ **

_ There’s a theory in quantum physics that time is immutable. It’s like a river, you can throw a pebble into it, create a ripple, but the current always corrects itself. No matter what you do, the river just...keeps flowing in the same direction. _

She realized her soul had not entirely withered the moment she saw him. He looked older. _ God _ . So much older. At first, the connection was overwhelming, as her newly acquired power surged through her. She could feel him there, and he was strong, so strong, and resilient. It was like holding a heavy weight while being suspended in mid-air. No support, no bracing or solid foundation underneath them.

_ Whatever happens today, I need you to promise me something. You’ve looked into my mind and you’ve seen a lot of bad, but you've seen the good too. The X-Men. Promise me you’ll find us. Use your power, bring us together. Guide us. Lead us. Storm. Scott. Jean. Remember those names. There are so many of us. We will need you, Professor.  _

Things had gone to shit in minutes. The Sentinels were unveiled on the lawn of the Whitehouse while Nixon spoke and then Lensherr had descended upon them all. The robots had turned their weapons on the humans, even as havoc erupted and people died and the world was thrown into chaos once more. Rubble falling from the sky, Charles pinned under the wreckage. Logan, desperately trying to fight off the metal hunk of junk to get to the Professor. And then...Hank helping and Logan laying eyes on the Lensherr bastard. Surging forward, batting away debris, until... Logan’s body roared in pain as Erik snaked the wire through him, piercing vital organs, as Logan felt blood fill his lungs.  _ No way to heal. Gotta get this stuff out of me. Gotta-- Fuck. FUCK!  _

_ So much for being a survivor.  _

Furrowed brows. Muscles tense. A thrashing of his limbs, even though they were held firmly down. His claws escaping from his hands, drips of his own blood pebbled on the floor. And then he was struggling, screaming, and Rogue silently cried. And then, outside, an explosion that shook the very core of the mountain, and a few moments later the professor’s mind casted out his profound grief.  _ They were dying. Bishop, dead. Storm, dead. Erik... _ Kitty had just pulled him through the door, and they both sank to the floor.  _ Oh dear god no. _

_ All of those years wasted fighting each other, Charles. To have a precious few of them back. _

And then a sharp cut of his body hitting the water. Immediately his windpipe full of it. No oxygen. All pain. All the  _ fucking pain.  _ He was sinking like a fucking stone. Lungs on fire, body broken. Jesus  _ fucking Christ. He’d failed her.  _ Even as his mind wavered in and out of conciousness-- _ god, he’d fucking failed them all— _ he calmed himself. She needed him now. He could feel her panic, sense her grief, as he teetered back and forth between future and past.

_ I’m proud of ya kid, fer makin’ it. You held on. No matter what they did to ya, you held on. _

She was silently crying when she heard the floor start to rumble, the room tightening. She watched as Logan’s body still gasped for breath, drowning in a waterless void, his mind growing lighter. She could practically feel parts of him falling away as her hands shook. 

_ And you know what, baby? _

The sentinels in the room with them both. A bright white light. The heat radiating. 

_ I think that’s our peace callin’. _

Her hands quaking as they held the only man she’d ever loved. The man she had lost and found, and then lost. Holding him again, like she had always longed to do. 

A cloud of memory. A sky full of it. _ Sirius. Canis major. _ He’d known all the constellations after his memory had returned. He hadn’t had the chance to tell her that. But now, his heart stuttering, slowing, and a surge of anger, as he growled his final thought:  _ Show ‘em. Show the bastards. Give ‘em every last second you got.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the beautiful @bluefrogsbestfrogs for this wonderful beta edit. Also, we've started a Rogan discord (like a messaging board service for fans!). We're having fun over there, swapping fic ideas, having watch parties, all of it! COVID-19 has us all indoors. This helps with the isolation. Hope you are all safe and well.
> 
> Discord link: https://discord.gg/fV64wB


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This little epilogue contains spoilers now for Fray, Twelve and Between. Just so you know. Also, it's short! ;D

**Drafted: Epilogue **

** _Pinwheel Universe: Revised Timeline, 2023_ **

** _Westchester, New York_ **

The soft, natural light. The laughter. The way the impossibly clear windows let in the late afternoon sun, and the way the smells of dinner being prepared in the kitchen permeated happily about the room. The way everything looked rich, colorful. People, who were real and warm, hearts beating steadily in their chests. All around, the fear was absent. 

The steam from the coffee was furling up from the warm mug, steading his hand as he gripped it, sitting calmly at a small table in the Westchester dining room. Since he'd woken up that morning, Logan had spend the whole afternoon out on a bike, presumably belonging to the sorry bastard's body he'd stolen. He’d thought about nature, the patterns in a timber tree. How its purpose was simply to grow. Like an animal might be. Unaware of its own existence. It was what it was. And Logan...wasn’t. 

He was sure it had been her, in the end. The only problem was...he was certain he would’ve died with her. Alongside her. Alongside Storm and the others. Instead, he had somehow lived, had  _ not  _ drowned, and he had once again abandoned them all, escaping through a crack in time, slippery bastard that he was. And now there were imposters in place of the people that he had loved, happy and healthy. He hadn’t seen her since he’d first open his door that morning, but he’d been trackin’ her scent all day nevertheless. Her scent was different, somehow, still nectar and earth, but it was now inlaid with a hundred other things that hung like mysteries in the air. But there was nothing ghostly about her, like sensing her presence at the end had felt. 

A stranger. They all were. Logan wanted to smoke a cigar, drink a bottle of bourbon, and then somehow find a way to get back. To  _ his  _ Rogue. To  _ his  _ people. But, of course, now, there was nowhere to go back  _ to.  _ He had erased it all. And he was once more displaced. Despite Charles’ efforts to soothe him, Logan knew what he had done. He was in the body of a man he’d just sentenced to death, the other Logan’s consciousness, a man who had lived fifty years of his life differently from his own, was no more. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, either. Maybe that man had been soft. Maybe that man had been weak. Maybe that man had been an asshole. Maybe not. But Logan was a soldier, and now, sitting in this place of joy, the relative silence and stillness of around him, he felt  _ wrong.  _

And then, “ _ wham!”  _ A pile of books landing on the table in front of him. He growled a little, and looked up begrudgingly to stare at who had distrubed him, already aware who the intruder was. Older, thinner. More refined. Beautiful and professional with tumbling brown hair and deep chocolate eyes, in a black blazer and a soft cotton button down and a pair of dark jeans, hand on one hip. She was lookin’ at him annoyed, like something was off kilter. Like she couldn’t figure him out. Like maybe...someone had run off with the old Logan and put this strange, stoic man in his place. She’d be right about that.

“Hey,” she said expectantly, as if she were telling him to stop slouching during class.

“Hey yerself,” he grumbled, and then she was taking the seat opposite of him, and he narrowed his eyes in annoyance at the further intrusion, now only a steaming mug of coffee and a pile of books and a whole other lifetime’s worth of experience between the pair.

“So,” she said, her eyes focused and determined, and he realized she was going to figure him out. She was going to get to the bottom of this. She was going to worm her way in, settle inside his goddamn heart, and ruin him once more. And this time for good. 

“So…” she said, a challenge in her eyes. “Spill.”

  
\--  
  


** _Forty one years later..._ **

** _Pinwheel Universe: Revised Timeline, August 2044_ **

** _Westchester, New York_ **

Neither of them said anything. Words didn’t quite need sayin’. Logan had finished the story, the book for Marie’s class,  _ Mutant History 101.  _ It had been a hard thing to do, to write, and back in the cabin, Marie had read his notes, his interpretations of what he had experienced even though she had every memory Logan had. She read his notes studiously, with a sort of due-diligence only she could possess. She had cried during parts, was enraged during others, and afterward, with a tear-stained face, she’d ask to end her meditation, and go outside for real.

It was a still summer night in August, and Marie had chosen to forgo her shoes and now the neatly tended-to grass was cool and crisp under her feet. The school year was set to start soon, and it had been weighing on them all. She’d almost come to blows with Laura the other day over the academic schedule, and afterward they had apologized and split a six-pack on the veranda. Now though, the sun had set, the crickets chirped, and the moon was out, and Logan took it all in from her perspective as she finally found what she was looking for. On the northern side of the mansion, the pillars, commemorating each person who had lost their life for this institution and the ideology it represented. Marie’s hands only shook slightly as she ran it over the Professor’s, Hank’s, Kitty’s, Scott’s and the rest, and then, finally.. Storm’s. She paused there, and frowned.

“You knew a different woman than me,” she said to the dark air, to the man that now only resided in her mind.

_ She was the same woman, kid. Same soldier. Same spirit.  _

“She sacrificed so much,” Marie whispered.

_ You did too. We all did,  _ Logan thought tiredly. And then, he could feel the fear, the regret, bubbling up inside Marie.

_ Marie?  _ He nudged her gently. But she didn’t respond immediately, choosing now to sit in the cool grass just before Storm’s headstone, just like the way she would do with Logan’s back in Hay River sometimes. 

“I just...I want to get this class right. I want to...we need to get it  _ right _ ,” she whispered as she drew her knees up to herself. Logan hesitated a second before responding. There was no way, really, to know all the had happened, all the pain and moments of hope and loss they had all felt. No way to know the former Marie’s awful end, and all the moments in between that had filled her short life.

_ I know, darlin’,  _ he finally responded. 

“Will you help me? Get it right, sugar? Or as close as we can to it?” she whispered to the dark. At this, he softly chuckled and spread out his consciousness to her, warming her, and she responded by smiling.

_ Always, kid. Trust me. Together, we’ll tell their story. _

_ We’ll get it right. _

** _-End-_ **

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it for this one, folks. Thanks for the journey. I hoped to, in this piece, create a rich background of Logan's (and now Rogue's) life during the original timeline and the war, so I may draw on these experiences for Between. They are flashes of scene that have been in my head since Fray, but I was so rushed back then I didn't take the time to write them. Hopefully the dots are connected for you now. I have such an affinity for these characters, but I will be bringing the Pinwheel universe to an end once I finish Between. Have to move on to new (Rogan!) horizons.
> 
> All my love. I hope you and your loved ones are staying safe during this crisis. Let's continue to lean on each other for support, laughter, and love. 
> 
> Yours,  
Amber


End file.
